that almost between our lips
by purqatory
Summary: she was the reminder that made him realise life was worth living. he says her name and the whole sky spirals into an inferno. [dramione one shots]
1. greek mythology

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count** : 1107 words

 **Setting** : bookstore!au; muggle!au

* * *

"Um, Miss? The store is closing in five minutes." He put the pile of misplaced books into the circle of his other arm while he reached over through the empty slot in the World Politics shelf. His fingers only managed to graze the girl's shoulder before she was startled and jerked away, her book nearly falling from her hands.

Draco cursed, curling his hand into a fist, "Shit! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you-"

"Sorry! I didn't hear you." Her cheeks were getting pink as she waved the book, with her fingers stuck in the end as a bookmark. "I'm nearly done with this."

His brow wrinkled. He was already overtiming for thirty minutes, and he was late for the dinner with his parents. It was in one of those smart restaurants, and he was in a hurry to get his pressed suit from the dry cleaners. But he sighed, "It's fine. I will clock out first and wait for you to finish."

She smiled, her front teeth scratching her lower lip. "Thanks. Thanks so much."

Draco nodded once, put the books he was going to re-stack on the empty shelf, and headed to the back of the store to get his things. He would just have to arrive earlier the next morning to put them back in place. It was fine. He understood how she didn't want to leave that book behind. It was a good book, a new best-seller about how future foreign politics would be moulding the international system, and he had finished a copy in one setting a few days ago.

By the time he put on his leather jacket, donned his backpack and shut the office door behind him, the girl was nowhere in sight. The book- _her book_ \- was back on the new-comer seat, and the pile under it straightened. His eyebrow went up: _she could have said good-bye_.

"Hey, a little help here?" The girl's voice came from the back of his head and Draco turned to witness her on the top of the stepping stool, her arm stretched as far as it could, trying to put _Hellen of Troy, A Biography_ into its place.

The way her long legs were resting on the tip of her toes and a hint of midriff was exposed from her sweater had him going up to her and grinning: "Is the view nice up there?"

She huffed and stood back on the heels of her feet. "I know I'm short, but I'm trying to put your pile of books back, so please do help me. It's the last one."

Draco suddenly didn't think of any reason to be in a hurry; he rested his arms on the support of the stool. "I didn't know you had the store memorised enough to know which belongs where."

"It's basic genre-sorting." She replied dismissively, a finger brushing along the spine of the mythology book, "This is my favorite genre, so I'm pretty familiar with the usual types of books stores are selling."

Draco wanted to laugh out loud at how serious she was sounding, how her smooth forehead had crinkled up as she appraised the synopsis of the book on its back, and how he was certain he didn't have to double-check if everything was back into their place. "Your favorite is greek mythology and its biographies? I would have thought Austen or something with cats in it."

"I loves cats, but I won't necessary want to spend time reading about them." The girl decided that he wasn't going to help any time soon, and she sat down with the book in her lap. "And what's wrong with Greek gods and goddesses?"

"Nothing. I think I know why, and I have a hunch." Draco rested his jaw on his folding hands over the railing. The girl's bushy hair brushed against his sleeves as she twisted her body sideways to retort, "Oh, really? Let's hear it, then."

"You are either named after a goddess, or you are interested in picking name for a potential cat as your new pet."

Her eyes seemed to twinkle under the lights, and they were brown and then they were bronze with flicks of amber. "Name. Not exactly qualified, but close. And no, I'm not getting a cat anytime soon."

"Ah-ha. So I'm right on the first account. Consequently, you should give me your name as my reward."

"You give me yours first." Her hand was resting against his, and he didn't think she noticed that she was leaning closer, and he couldn't find the will to back away. "And don't tell me it's _Sparta_ , because I will laugh."

"Do you think I would still be here talking to you if my name is Sparta? No offence to anyone who is named after the guy. I am feeling sorry for him." She pressed her lips together with her fingers to fight back a laugh, and he wished that she didn't.

"Draco. I'm Draco."

"Like the constellation? That's… that's pretty. And it kind of suits your hair." She pointed, and then put her fingers back over her mouth.

Draco run a hand consciously over his head. He didn't really liked his hair, but no hair dye ever really set well with his stupid pale complexion. "Thanks, I guess… Miss _Stalling Until He Forgets To Ask Your Name_."

Now she couldn't stop herself from laughing and Draco couldn't stop himself from staring at the apples of her cheeks and how her cheekbones stood out when she grinned. "… It's Hermione. Mystical but not yet a goddess."

Her wild hair, the bow of her mouth, the freckles on her cheeks, her slim jawline- her name suited her like nothing else in comparison. She was mystical to him, because she had stayed to re-shelf the books he was going to, proud and a bit snooty in the way he found it amusing because it was directed from her love for books, breathed through books not many actually would read through and she _liked_ the abomination of his hair. "Well, you are. To me, that is."

 _Hermione_ covered the lower half of her face with the book still in her hands."How many times did you use that on a girl?" That arch of her eyebrow could be a reflection of his own, which made him grin even harder.

"Well, I've never meet anyone would is named Hermione. So rest assured, you are the only one." His eyes fastened onto hers, grey and brown, unwavering, like the shell over a pearl, protecting the most vulnerable yet treasurable object against the crashing waves of the ocean.

* * *

 **A/N** : When you have to go through otp prompts to find fluffy drabble lines, you really need to sort out your priorities.


	2. the ring finger

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger; Theodore Nott/Luna Lovegood

 **Word Count** : 600 words

* * *

"That's your last glass of champagne."

"Yes, obviously," Draco drained the flute of bubbly in one gulp, "I know you've been Disguising Firewhiskey with fucking sparkling water the whole night."

"It's necessary," Theo shrugged, raising his tumbler to his lips and taking a gulp, "Luna wants me sober when we Apparate to Ireland."

Draco shook his head and rolled the thin glass stem in between his fingers, the perspiration from the chilled drink lingered, "I can't believe you are going to Ireland for your honeymoon."

Theo looked over at his companion, and followed his gaze across the ballroom. "I can't believe you eloped without telling me."  
Just as expected, his oldest friend stiffened. "… What gave us away?"

Theo glanced down at the flute in Draco's hand, "You kept rubbing against your ring finger as if it was an itch that never could go away. You have a chain around your neck, and I've never seen you wear anything but your signet." He gestured towards the group of witches in the room with his alcohol, "And Granger is practically _glowing_."

" _Malfoy_."

His automatic correction had Theo's mouth lifting at the corner. "I'm happy for you."

Draco opened his mouth, but gratefully allowed the interruption from the passing waiter with whiskey so to gather what he was going to say.

Hermione wanted it to remain a secret: _fuck_ , he had to watch his new wife go through the Floo with that breathtaking midnight-blue gown without her arm in his; his bare left hand felt out of place without their simple platinum wedding bands. The only interaction for the couple on that day was when the minister announced Luna as a Nott that his witch had given him a secret smile, tugged at her chain and pressed her fingers against her lips.

"You knew how much I wanted this. You knew how much I needed this, and you definitely knew how scared I was that this wouldn't work." His fingers grazed his chain now with the kind of anxiety that wine couldn't seem to sooth, "She's head-strong and stubborn, and she would want to fight against the world so that I could raise my head to be the husband she deserves. She's scared for me: she thinks I'm not ready, but it's …"

"It's your battle in the end." Theo echoed, remembering having that conversation three weeks ago.

"I'm grateful," Draco's jaw tightened, his eyes on the ambers of the drink in his hand, "that she understands me enough, that she is patient enough to start our lives together when I'm still at the starting point."

Theo felt the same emotion that Draco was feeling as both of them watched their wives in the midst of the guests: two vibrant, graceful and magnificent women, bracing against justified reservations for 'reformed' criminals, had accepted their own promises of giving them full lives with all the love both men could muster, and expect nothing in return but simply let both Theo and Draco hang on for dear life.

Theo raised his drink and tapped it lightly to his friend's, "I'm grateful: for I was fortunate enough to be granted second chances to fight for what is right."

Draco's thumbnail scratched at the slight indentation on his fourth finger. "For all that's worthy."

Theo's ring gave a slight _ting_ as he tightened his grip on his tumbler. "For all that's good." They drank, and it wasn't just their throat that ached in _this_ good way they wanted to get used to.


	3. i have been waiting

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : The War AU

 **Word Coun** t: 637 words

 **Tag** : Order!Draco

* * *

 _ **Hour One**_

She could feel her heart in her throat, suffocating her, spreading the fire into the depths of her lungs.  
She wasted her breath yelling his name.

 ** _Hour Three_**

He dodged the green flash, but his waist took the blunt of the blue. He landed hard on the ground, and a crack resonated through his ringing ears like the snap of a chestnut.  
He asked himself whether the shade of her hair was the color that morning.

 ** _Hour Five_**

 _Harry, Harry, Harry!  
Ron! Ron, Ron, Ron._

 **Hour Five**

 _Tonks, Lupin's down. Get him out. Tonks! Just get the fuck out of here!_

 ** _Hour Seven_**

Half of her braid was seared off and it was all she could think about. Her wand was still in her hand, but it was slipping quickly from her fingers because of all the potion spilt across the floor. Glass sunk along her spine as she scooted backwards, away, away.  
Then she was mesmerised just how familiar her hunter brandished her wand about.

 ** _Hour Eight_**

Protocols be damned. He didn't care.  
He hauled Weasley up, shoved his wand in his pocket and attached the Portkey into his limp hand. There was no urge to go with him while she was out there somewhere.  
He turned after he was sure Weasley was gone.

 ** _Hour Nine_**

 _When this is all over…  
What makes you think it would ever end?  
And here I thought I was the pessimist.  
Realist.  
I can't argue with that.  
You will come back?  
Yes. Where else would I go?_

 ** _Hour Eleven_**

 _I shouldn't even be here: you started it first.  
I was just stating the obvious: this plan is fucking stupid.  
Language, Malfoy. Have some respect.  
You know it's true. I don't want anyone else to die.  
… we won't.  
We? Thanks for that.  
Shut up. I don't want you to die.  
Stop trying to convince yourself.  
Shut up, Malfoy. Just… come here._

 ** _Hour Twelve_**

She didn't know how she left the classroom but she did. She couldn't feel her right arm but she could use from her elbow up to stop the bleeding. She was dizzy, everything was spinning.  
A flash of white finally blinded her.

 ** _Hour Fifteen_**

They were all sheep raised for slaughter: what the old generation couldn't fix was bestowed upon the young the minute they were born. He was not the only one who stood and stared as Potter and Riddle circled each other, a decade-old dance. He tightened his own wand and gave his fate to whomever was still listening: he did his part, now he had nothing else to give.

 ** _Hour Sixteen_**

Whenever she breathes, the debris stab at her holey shirt, and everything just itches even more.  
She wanted the itch to stop more than the pain.

 ** _Hour Seventeen_**

If they were not hugging him so tightly his ribs would shatter, he wouldn't have recognised his parents. They held him even tighter, and he almost forgot who he was.

 ** _Hour Eighteen_**

She saw mist formulated and solidify, and then the wasps of smoke disappeared. She thought she saw shadows of those she had known, and she smiled.

 ** _Hour Twenty_**

"Do you trust Kingsley?"  
"I trust him enough. Are they all rounded up?"  
"Hardly. Half of our team is chasing their tails as we speak."  
"Our team?"  
"Shut up, Potter. You already have my wand."

 ** _Hour Twenty-One_**

It was impulse that made her want to tell Neville his parents would be proud. It was also why she impulsively closed her eyes. She was safe.

 ** _Hour Twenty-Two_**

He staggered up the staircase and came face-to-face with the Patil twins.  
His nails pierced his palms.

 ** _Hour Twenty-Three_**

 _Wait_. A four-letter word that could never rival _Hope_ , or _Love_ , or _Hold_ , or _Home_.  
 _Dies_ triumphs all.

 ** _Day Zero_**

 _Gone._

* * *

 **A/N** : been obsessed with this style of writing lately ?


	4. little do you know

**Pairing:** Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting:** Year 3- The Aftermath AU

 **Word Count:** 851 words

* * *

 **1.**

They ran into each other at the far corner of the library. Her books scattered down on their feet and her forehead chafed his jaw.  
 _Shit, I'm sorry… Malfoy.  
I know you like books, but look up once in a while, would you?  
I said I was sorry.  
I heard you. And I take it the apology doesn't apply to my nose?_  
He kneeled and picked up her things; her face heated as she accepted from his offering hand.  
He remained crouched when she did not look back.

 **2.**

She approached him and when he didn't look up from her pulling the opposite chair out and took the seat.  
He spoke when she was opening her bag and leafing through for her quill.  
 _Have you started the Charms essay?  
If you mean by having an outline and some books on hand, then, yes.  
Good. What texts would you recommend? _  
She was distracted by how the scratching of both their quills seamlessly synchronised.

 **3.**

He took the badge out of the lapel of his robes and stuffed it into his trouser pocket before coming up to her.  
She pretended she didn't bother noticing him.  
 _How was your summer?  
It's a few months and a Triwizard Tournament into the school year, and you are only asking me now?  
I wasn't - there wasn't- I couldn't find the window. And you are always at Potter's side.  
He's being forced into the Tournament! I'm helping him!  
And I'm not even ridiculing you for that!_  
He turned and walked away before he would not stop himself from kissing her mouth.

 **4.**

Her lips shoved back the words he was meant to say, so he complied, backing her up against the table, and clutched at the top of her stocking knees. Her hands travelled up the valley of his shoulders and creased his dress robes reaching for his hair.  
 _A Beauxbaton doesn't really suit me at all, it turns out.  
Dark blue suits you.  
And I'm certain clothes doesn't really suits you.  
You, too. _  
They soon learned it was easy to forget anything else when they could feel everything just by matching their skin together.

 **5.**

He pushed against her shoulder and she dropped her book bag. She glared up at him, enough to raise the tension and students around them fled the scene muttering about her impending death sentence; he smirked and crossed his arms as a challenge.  
 _Look who it is, member of the_ Inquisitive _Squad._  
 _Very funny:_ Inquisitorial _, Granger._  
 _Potato, potatoe._  
 _Stow your grin away, you minx. Umbridge is on to you. Why are you running around the school during study hours?_  
 _The less you know, the better._  
 _I'm serious: keep out of trouble. I don't want to catch you in the act._  
 _… We both know where we stand._  
He took her jaw in his hand before she could push them further away.

 **6.**

His thumbs pressed against his temples and his fingers were laced and obstructed his eyes from her. He was shaking and she only allowed her fingers to graze across his back.  
 _You know, what…_ angers _me the most is that I didn't hear this from my mother.  
Maybe she wasn't informed.  
Maybe she thinks she could hide it from me. Or maybe she thinks _he _won't bloody get caught.  
I'm sorry. We- we thought they had Sirius._  
She withdrew and made to leave, but he tugged her back into him and placed his hand over the side of her stomach.  
 _I love you more because of your scar, you know._

 **7.**

 _I don't need to know anything, Malfoy. I don't even know what to say.  
Tell me I have a choice. Tell me there's a way out of this. Tell me you won't ever look at me like you are now again.  
Why do you want me to lie?_

 **8.**

 _…_ _which hurt more?  
Who knew you could be this cruel, Granger?_

 **9.**

He stared at her hands reaching in from the bars as if it was a viper poised for attack. He let her take his hands anyway, since it was going to be a while before anyone would voluntarily come close to him and not hit him across his face.  
 _I'm sorry.  
We just keep apologising to each other, do we?  
At least there's _us _.  
Don't wait. Just… you can't.  
No, this time it's you. Just don't go anywhere, all right?_  
He could have been lost for three years, but she found him again in a month.

 **10.**

The steam from the blasting shower was smothering. He didn't hear her come into the shower and he staggered into the shower rack, bottles skidding over the wet floor. Her fingers dragged his damp hair over his forehead.  
 _Sorry. Just thought you want someone to scrub your back.  
Did I wake you?  
No, I couldn't sleep.  
Sorry._  
 _This_. It pained him to touch that fucking word on her skin. _Everything_.  
One hand covered his arm with the other to lessen the hot water, she whispered the truth against his lips: _This will hurt less because we are together_.

* * *

 **A/N** : want to expand this drabble into a hermione time-turner year3 au


	5. the devil's advocate

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger; background Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson

 **Setting** : 7th/8th Year AU

 **Word Count** : 864 words

 **A/N** : for the Blaise _Annoyed-By-Dramione_ Zabini headcanon/meme

* * *

Saturday afternoons were Blaise's favorite day of the week. Mondays to Fridays were pure torture and the influx of reasons to have headaches even during bloody lunch could push a man into doing things he would never have condoned.

The first example on the top of his aching skull; being guilt-tripped into joining a study session with Granger in the library, and stayed when Granger had nonchalantly invited Draco: that was two months ago. Another example was allowing himself to be dragged along for a ' _this is not a date!_ ' to Hogsmeade and becoming the third-wheel that was given sympathetic looks after surveying the _'I hate this!' 'I hate you, more.' 'I hate you first!'_ duo. And the latest reason for a migraine: finally giving in and giving bloody Granger the password to the Slytherin dungeons just to stop her from hanging on his coat-tails and acting all chummy when she didn't really mean it. Alright, she really _meant_ it, but a Zabini would never permit himself to be a vessel for a way out of sexual tension.

That was three weeks ago and he was regretting it ever since. That - _witch_ was everywhere, investing the air with her lily hand lotion and he swore to Salazar if he found any more strands of hair in between the lining of cushions or the arms of the chairs, he would-

 _It was Saturday, and you are all alone in the common room, with_ War and Peace _, and they are serving steak and kidney pie later for dinner, so all is well._ Blaise inhaled deeply with his eyes closed, and shook his shoulders free. _Calm. Zen. Or any of those bull-_

"Fucking hell, Granger! I told you! Twice clock-wise and thrice anti-clock wise!"

"No, the book said the opposite and I'm doing the opposite! What are you-"

"The fucking carpet, that's what! It's corroding-"

"For Godric's sake-"

"Pride jar! One Galleon! Put it-"

"Shut up and help me wipe this off-"

"Wipe? Are you a witch or not- fuck, did you just hit me with-"

"I can hit you with anything I want to-"

"Woman, I'm not your fucking pet-"

"I wouldn't want a ferret as-"

"Get out of my room! I need to get-"

"Oh, no, you don't, Malfoy-"

Blaise turned his eyes towards the ceiling instead of the incoming couple; the whiff of singed powdered horn and the faint sizzling of a cooling potion could be heard from Draco's room. Blaise didn't know whether he should be grateful that the pair was not naked or not: maybe that would stop the angry snarls cleverly (in their opinion, obviously) disguising their version of a three-months-and-ongoing so-called _annoying the shit out of each other/ I just can't stand her/him!_ cycle.

Blaise surveyed them over the top of his book, crooking an eyebrow. "Draco, _mate_ , do we have to talk about how your downstairs is being very uncomfortable there, and frankly, I'm uncomfortable as to know that fighting with a Gryffindor turns you on: you should be the one to put _your_ family fortune into the House Pride jar." Without wasting a breath to smirk at his housemate's shock of realization, he turned towards the witch who was definitely not from their house, despite the green patches of potion across her white blouse: "And you, Granger. One Galleon for your _Godric_ exclamation, and if you wish to stop contributing your money into our graduation trip, the next name you'd better be screaming is Malfoy's."

Blaise picked up his wand as they simultaneously opened their mouths, and casted a _Silencio_ to the pair. "This is my last warning: either kiss, or get the fuck out of my sight."

Blaise was about to bet the rest of his sorry inheritance that there would be more shuffling and pushing against the shoulders, elbow-poking, belt-pulling, and his personal favorite, tie-tugging, but- Granger clasped Draco's up-turned collar and yanked him down to her for a snog that would surely haunt Blaise once again during their wedding. His best mate was as a slow as Slughorn realizing he was cheating off Granger for half the year, but he managed to grasp on the top of her arms before Granger pushed away and skidded out of the room as quickly as Blaise would have preferred her to on the first day she was allowed in.

That moron just stood there as if his first kiss was stolen and gaped at Blaise instead, and Blaise stared blankly back, his wand pointing to the direction where the girl went. Who knew Draco Malfoy could make a comical exit pathetic as he darted out and Blaise muttered out a synonym of a feline as the door of the common room slammed shut behind said described.

Blaise waited a good five minutes for the universe to defy his one good day in the week, and after three more cycle of breathing exercise that could prevent his eye from twitching too much, he settled back into the sofa and propped his book back over his chest.

"Pansy, I swear to _Merlin_ -"

"Weasley, I would not permit myself to be compared to Brown of all-"

" _Oh, for fuck's sake!_ "

* * *

 **A/N** : plot-twist blaise loves being the third wheel lol (;


	6. talk me down

**Pairing:** Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count:** 1,194 words

 **A/N:** inspired by talk me down by troye sivan

* * *

She was late. By the time she realized the time, she was still elbows deep in work and it was fifty minutes past. She left everything and clocked out, barely waving a goodbye to her colleagues and cut across a couple for the Floo. She called out her address in the stunned face of the pair and was home in less than five seconds.

She ducked out of the fireplace, hoping she would be able to change before he noticed she was even home late, but he was perched on the sofa, a glass of wine in one hand, and another stroking a sleeping Crookshanks. She froze on instinct and he gave her a small smile.

"Welcome back."

She winced through her teeth, "Hi. I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly. You were busy with work and I just sit around the place all day."

"Well, you just came back from your mission." She shook her head, "I said I would be back early for dinner."

"Give it a rest, sweetheart. You're home now." He beckoned her towards him and since when could she resist? He smelled of parchment, or linen and snapdragons. She closed her eyes when he gave her a kiss on her forehead.

"How's work?" His large hands massaged her stiff shoulders and she melt against him, her cheek on his crisp shirt.

"Tiring. I have files scattered around my office like confetti."

"You and your disdain towards filing cabinets. I bought you five just last month."

"I did color-code them and store them in, I just don't bother piling them back in when I'm doing a big case."

He snorted. "Substitute don't bother with too lazy." She scrunched up the back of his shirt to retaliate. He laughed at that.

"I've cooked dinner. Want some?"

She stared up at him in mock surprise. "You cooked? Are you sure it's not takeaway?"

"From your Thai place? We've been eating that for the past week, no thank you." He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her towards the kitchen. Crooks gave a whine as he patted him over the head.

The smell of spaghetti mingled with the smell of lilies on the kitchen counter. A bottle of white wine was breathing beside her glass, their best silverware and her birthday china patterned prettily against the lace tablecloth. The silver Malfoy dragon of a candle holder was sitting proudly in the middle, a silver candle lit.

"Wow. What's the occasion?" She jested, putting an arm around his waist.

"Shut up. I spent an afternoon getting it all fancy and posh."

"The Malfoy way." She interjected and he rolled his eyes.

He guided her to her seat and pushed her forward to the table and laid a kiss on her shoulder.

"Such a gentleman." She jokingly cooed as he rounded the table to the stove for their meal.

"I always have been." He answered, taking a plate covered with a dome. She giggled when he tried to use his heel to turn off the heating board and failed. She waved her wand and it snapped at his foot.

He raised a brow before going back to the table, "It's nothing fancy, but for this occasion, reminiscence is needed."

"You mean the time you nearly burned down my kitchen making char-grilled meatballs?"

"My hand was burned, not your bloody kitchen." He muttered with narrowed eyes at her gleeful tease. She bit her lip and rested her chin on her wrist as she surveyed him, head to toe decked in his formal wear just so he could lift the lid with flourish and present her with his homemade meal.

"I give you, meatballs and spaghetti in tomato sauce." He declared, so proud of himself. When he noticed she wasn't even looking at the food, he leaned over and accepted her kiss. When he pulled back, she grabbed at him, but he was rounding over and seated across from her. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

He shook his head once. "No."

"You mentioned going to your parents' for a visit? We could go tomorrow."

He gave a tight-lipped smile, "We should. Mother and Father would like that."

She was transfixed how the single candle lit him in ways that made his face a timeless sculpture: the shadows across his sharp cheekbones, his white-blonde hair almost illuminating a halo over his head, his grey eyes like swirling mercury, his pale fingers lacing together and his chin resting on them, surveying her as she took her first bite.

She chewed, and swallowed hard before she smiled at his anxious face. "It's delicious. I'm just messing with you."

He threw his hands up in surrender. "You got to stop doing that! The first time I cooked for you you did the same thing and nearly made me threw the whole pan out the window because you look as if you hate it."

"You've cooked enough times and I've eaten your food more than enough for you not to worry about that anymore." She swirled another forkful and put it into her mouth, exaggerating a bit for his bemusement. She rolled her eyes and nodded towards the wine.

She waited until he refilled her glass before asking: "How's your head? Does it still hurt?"

He rubbed at the back of his head absentmindedly, "Nah, I put some ice on it and took some of your pills so it's doing fine."

"You'd better go to St. Mungo's for a check up. Harry said you might have a concussion."

"Potter this, Potter that." He mumbled and she kicked him under the table.

"Anyway," his calves held her legs to stop her from kicking his shins again, "It's your birthday in five days. What did your friends plan this year?"

She tightened her fork. "Nothing as far as I know. I haven't seen Ginny for a while."

"You shouldn't take so many cases all at once. Get someone to help. You have bags under your eyes, love." The way he looked at her made her shiver.

"You should eat; it's delicious." She made to get some onto her fork, but he was filling up the wine and held it to her by the stem.

"A toast, if you will, to the brightest witch of her generation. May her work be as prestigious as the start, and to the never-ending strive towards the greater good!" She didn't know whether to smile or laugh or maybe she should cry.

"To you, the light of my world, may there not be a day passing without me telling you just how lucky I am to be in love with you." His voice was low, a murmur as soft as the wind, as gentle as a kiss on the cheek.

"Happy anniversary, Draco." She whispered, let her wand roll off her hand. She simply let the glass in front of her fall into the empty abyss.

She could hear it splitter into pieces on the floor along with her heart.


	7. f o o l s

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : The DH Aftermath AU

 **Word Count** : 2070 words

 **Inspiration** : _FOOLS_ by Troye Sivan

* * *

 ** _I am tired of this place, I hope people change_**

London seemed drearier than usual, and I stared down at the black umbrella, droplets of the rain in the afternoon dampening the grey carpet. The tips of my hair were wet, just like no one could escape the dread and the sadness of life even though they were wrapped in warm blankets or in arms of those who loved them.

 _Chin up: the worst is over_ , they told Harry; _Have you started planning the wedding_ , they asked Ron and I. _The worst is yet to come_ , I wanted to shout into their faces, but I hugged Harry, nodded once at Ron without looking at him, and walked slowly back towards where I came from.

 ** _I need time to replace what I gave away_**

It was quiet around the house, and the boxes and my spare things were still scattered around the bare living room. My battered Hogwarts trunk, durable to a fault, had arrived yesterday from Harry's place, and I had left it by the fireplace, a temptation to build a fire during early spring just to scorch the memories hot enough to burn them away. I opened it up anyway, knowing I couldn't afford to replace them, because then it would just be flashes of the past, instead of remembrance that could wake people up at night. I fingered the edges of my seventh-year textbooks, brand new and un-tampered from age. One of my new eagle quills had been bent being under the inkwell for far too long, so I picked it out from the pile, a quick _Incendio_ , and it was gone. It was just that easy.

It _could_ just be that easy. We were lost, scattered. Ron had registered for professional Quidditch try-outs, I had filled in the application for a job inside the Ministry and not sent it, and Harry had plans to be not be around people for a while.

There was nothing left for anyone of us to save: Harry moved into his inheritance, Ron with his mother and me back into my Muggle roots. There was nothing else we could do for anyone else. What Harry was meant for was done. I knew what I was meant for, and my obligations were fulfilled. What had defined the Trio was over, and suddenly, I had no direction.

I said I wanted to do good, but what was _good_ anymore?

 ** _And my hopes, they are high, I must keep them small_**

No owls still. The trials were one week away, and I knew I couldn't get a reply sooner than that. We never talked about what happens afterwards, when we could stop fighting for battles we were not meant for, but he was stubborn just like I was, and when we were together, we were the most selfish people in the whole goddamned world.

 ** _Though I try to resist I still want it all_**

It was no surprise when I told Ron about him. He was a little taken back, but his mind was still in that place, so he didn't really react the way Harry thought he would. He had kissed me on the forehead, and told me to take care of myself. I had returned a bone-crunching hug and he was the one who had pushed away first. I knew he trusted me in my judgement, and I was disappointed. I wanted him to shake me until my brain rattled in my skull, I wanted Harry to yell at me until I sob, and I wanted to bang my head on the dry wall until it breaks. How irrational I was, yet I knew the second he touched my hand it was going to be never-ending. That was why we never talked about this _thing_ , this _gift_ , this _mistake_.

 ** _I see swimming pools and living rooms and aeroplanes_**

Don't fall in love during the war. Of course, you probably would before or after the battles because you want to be missed and know that there was someone who does; after the war, you want someone to tell you you are not a monster. But never during. That makes you human. That makes the demons multiply and they stay behind so much longer. And your inner turmoil would be between fighting for your cause and being afraid you are going to lose something as fragile as love between you and him. Just don't.

Because you won't get to see your kids grow up, you won't get that small house in a quant part of the village he grew up in, and you won't get to hold your hands on the front porch. All of these are just bullshit. Something reachable until you topple backwards and break your neck.

 ** _I see a little house on the hill and children's names_**

He had told me he couldn't afford it; I told him I had only so much to give; every single time we kissed, I told him it was the last time and he told me it was the only time he could be weak ever again.

 ** _I see quiet nights poured over ice and Tanqueray_**

Therefore: we weren't even paper thin; more like a piece of string, held only by few loose threads. And I was the one who cut them free. Our Headmaster's blood was on his hands as well as mine.

 ** _But everything is shattering and it's my mistake_**

"I thought you were off the witness list." He still found me, even when I had placed my home as Unplottable before I had left.

I halted from de-shelving the books. "I thought I told you that would be impossible."

"Romantic partners aren't allowed to testify against theirs. I thought Muggle law is the same."

 ** _Only fools fall for you, only fools fall_**

"Was that why you were with me? So there would be one less person to throw evidence against you?" First thing that came out of my mouth and I already fucked up.

His response was swift, like instinct. "Don't degrade us when you are angry with me." His words were as sharp as claps of thunder. His voice was like the grey clouds brewing above, threatening to rain down on me.

 ** _Oh, our lives don't collide, I'm aware of this_**

 _Fuck you, Malfoy! I told you… I can't…_

 _Then make me stop. Make you stop._

 _Your resistance is just shit._

 _Your resolution is just as shit as mine, so stop leaving._

 ** _The differences and impulses and your obsession_**

 _I can't believe you._

 _Is that a compliant or…? Does that really turn you on? Arguing for an hour about how stirring three times clockwise would turn the potion pink, but four times anti-clockwise would turn it translucent instantly?_

 _Shut up. Shut up. You know I got that right. I'll prove it to Slughorn tomorrow._

 _Merlin, Granger. If talking about academia could get you off, I should have one mark higher than you from now on._

 _Shut up, Malfoy._

 _Make me._

 ** _The little things you like stick, and I like aerosol_**

I didn't want to look at him just yet: what if the images of him was different from what I remembered… what if _he_ was better? Could I afford it then? I was never a Seer, never had the patience for Divination, but I had seen those flashes of the forever I could promise him, and I could get addicted to a long, long time of just being myself when I was with him. It was all so fucking dangerous, because so was _he_. I could love him, he could love me, there just never have been a thing called _us_.

I had acted on impulse, which made me kiss him on the mouth after verbally sparing about potions in the darkest corner of the library; he acted on instinct, and kept us a secret.

We could never mix without igniting something between us, and we never got to find out if it was devastatingly destructive or glorious.

 _ **Don't give a fuck, not giving up, I still want it all**_

He took a deep breath I could almost hear made his chest expand. "How was the ceremony?"

"Fucking grim."

"But bearable."

I nodded. "We will get there."

 ** _Only fools fall for you, only fools_**

"How was the hearing?"

"He's calm. Mother's doing fine."

"He's ready."

He grunted, because I still wasn't looking at him. "They want me to attend the allocation."

"Are _you_ ready?"

I glance at him then. His jaw locked shut.

 ** _Only fools do what I do, only fools fal_** _ **l**_

History grows on a person. It sharpened his cheekbones, it tightened the corners of his mouth. It lengthened his hair, it hardened at his jawline. The black layering him used to make him mysterious, but now it had grown onto him. He seemed to have shrunk, from his prideful youth to the boy who kept his head low and flinch against loud noises that would still risk kissing a girl in hidden corridors, to the man he was now, just… just _Draco_. He seemed grounded, quiet and deflated. He looked like himself, finally, like the boy he kept hidden and revealed in the most vulnerable of occasion.

I could bet his lips tasted the same, I could wager he still smile that same way, and I could believe he was just as warm.

 ** _Only fools fall_**

 _You taste like a future I could only live within my dreams._

 _Oh, no. A Malfoy breaking free of his mould._

 _You just had to ruin a moment when I'm trying to be sentimental._

 _I'm sorry. Thought you would want a light mood on a Friday night._

 _Too late._

 _I said I'm sorry. Tell me. And stop fidgeting._

 _My name doesn't sound so bad anymore. You make it bearable._

 _I like you just the way you are, you know that._

 _You don't get it, do you? Not everyone deserves to be saved, Granger, and you make me want to become someone who does._

 ** _Only fools fall for you, only fools_**

"They won't take that much from you, and after your hearing…"

"You know I have to go to prison for all the things I did. You being on the witness list doesn't make it less true."

 ** _Only fools do what I do,_**

 _No, no, you don't. You don't have to do this._

 _That's the only option I have! He would kill my parents, and he would kill me._

 _So you kill Dumbledore because you want to live? Who's next, then?_

 _I don't fucking know! What would you do: you Gryffindors tell everyone to stand up to what is wrong, but you are all left to cry over those you lost as you fought! This never ends! This is the start of a War, don't you understand that, Granger? When you and your boy duo go around spying on me, do you know what's happening outside? You don't always get to do the things you know is right if you want to live!_

 _Then I'd rather die!_

 _Maybe I don't, because I never got the life I wanted!_

 ** _Only fools fall_**

"Not everyone gets to do the right thing if they want to live." I whispered, taking a step closer.

"I'm doing this because I want that life. I need this, Granger."

"It's Azkaban. You won't get out if you go."

His eyes blazed, and he took a few steps. "Not everybody gets an anchor or something to survive for."

"I will wait." I said, taking a few more breaths and he closed his eyes.

"You shouldn't." He warned, but his fingers touched my elbows.

"Don't say it like a goodbye." I breathed, smoothing my fingers over his skin.

He opened his mercury eyes and framed my face just like I did his. "No, I say it like a prayer: because you know I can't."

I touched his mouth with mine.

"Forgive me." I think he was saying when he buried his face into my hair.

I allowed his hand on my arm and wrapped his arm around my waist.

That was Day Zero. And on Day Five-Hundred and Forty Six, he was still him, and he was mine again.

 ** _I see a little house on the hill and children's names  
I see quiet nights poured over ice and Tanqueray_**

I think I could keep waiting when I could see the silhouette of the end.

* * *

 **A/N** : I wonder if those who read my last drabble noticed the underlying tone of where the short led: _snapdragons_ , _crisp shirt_ , _lillies_ , her constant drinking, a lone candle, even a sleeping Crooks… a bit of poetic writing but i was basically describing how draco died (i.e. his concussion that he had left untreated after his mission) sorry hope this one's more not-so-dark… but it's me so don't get your hopes up


	8. the auror manual

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word count** : 612

 **Tag** : Auror!Draco, Law Enforcement!Hermione

* * *

The bed dipped as he turned another page. The cool autumn air hit his lower abdomen as she slid in the warm sheets, and he merely flinched when she layered her icy feet between his calves. He could hear the static bristling through her hair as she tied it into a braid but he just grunted, thumbing the rest of the pages to tell her it would take another while.

He lifted up his arm as he continued to ponder the line: ' _…invisibility cloaks are preferred but are hard to come by…_ ' and let Hermione press a kiss into his neck and nestle on his chest. "Did you know there are only ten ways to Track in training?"

"Twelve. I know a few more but it's Muggle methods so I don't know if that would count as cheating."

Hermione could practically tell where his eyes were burning holes in: "He would sneak it in, but I don't think he would be allowed to bring his Cloak to training."

"To gloat, most likely." He scoffed, and moved forward, still a hint disgruntled.

"Win some, lose some," Hermione rolled her eyes as she anticipated her best friend's whine of betrayal, "He was complaining he was going to fail his stealth class during dinner tonight."

Draco gave a short laugh. "One down, fourteen more to go."

"Don't you get cocky."

"It's reassurance. I am too nervous to get cocky." He sobered up as he reached the _Concealment and Disguise_ chapter.

Hermione put a finger on the end of the spine. "Don't bent the corners."

Exasperated and looking for a distraction, Draco picked her fingers up and nuzzled her vanilla-moisturized wrist, "It's just the training manual, not your nine-hundred Galleon Elf Rights manuscript."

She pinched his angled chin. "Oh, give it a rest. It is worth more than three-hundred Galleons and you know it."

Draco took her chin and gave a chiseled kiss on her mouth. "I know it." Hermione used the leverage to close the dog-eared book, but he pulled back with a sigh.

"Draco, it's three in the morning. Time for bed."

He started cracking the knuckles of his free hand. "Five minutes."

"It was five minutes five hours ago."

He glanced up and caught the time, and then the bruises under her eyes. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. But you need the rest; get up earlier tomorrow to read over that during breakfast. I will quiz you if you want."

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he let Hermione take the book from his hand and put it on the bed table at her side. "Have you read through this whole manual before?"

"Of course. I would like to know just what my boyfriend and my best friends are getting themselves into for the next three years."

"Extra reading materials." Draco muttered under his breath but Hermione ignored him.

"You'll be fine. The worst is over." He didn't mind that she was being blunt because in theory, it was: no wizard with a criminal record had ever been even considered to join the program, let alone a former Death Eater; he scooped her back into his arms to soften the guilt in her eyes, and flickered the lights dim.

He slowed his twitching leg down. "It's my nerves. I will work hard to prove to them-"

Hermione shut him up with her lips. "I have faith in you."

"That's all it matters." He agreed, and ducked down lower to reach her neck.

"Draco, bed." She protested, but her hands in his hair taunted him on.

His razor-sharp smile glinted off the dimming light. "Five more minutes."


	9. the six stages of having a crush

**Pairing:** Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count:** 3,015

 **Inspired:** The Six Stages of Having A Crush by iiSuperwomanii

* * *

 **Stage One: _The Discovery_**

Draco Malfoy didn't remember what he ate that day, or perhaps he simply put an extra spoonful of sugar into his morning coffee, but something felt different in his bones. He knew something was definitely wrong with his brain because he found himself, sitting in his good old cubicle of an office, submerged with Auror files and in the middle of a meeting with 'good old' Potter, Longbottom and good-for-nothing Weasley, and was staring almost transfixed right at the last of the Golden Trio ― Merlin forbid ― _Granger_ as she stopped by to greet her friends. She high-fived Potter enthusiastically, and messed up his already messy hair: _does he know hair gel is a thing in the wizarding world?_ She allowed Longbottom to kiss her on both cheeks: _what is he, suddenly French?_ She rejected Weasley's hug, and instead shook his hand with a purse of her lips: _no one would want to be Weasley right that second and since when does Granger's lips looked so enticing?_ Draco refrained from rolling his eyes at Weasley's embarrassingly red face because he was busy assessing at what Granger was wearing: _since when in Draco Malfoy's eyes did a simple white shirt and grey pressed trousers looked this appealing, and on Granger, of all people on this planet?_ She looked amazing, nerve-wrenchingly, breathtakingly and disturbingly gorgeous. Salazar, why did she feel the need to wear bloody stilettos to work? Something was definitely stuck in his throat. He swallowed and must have looked ridiculous.

"Malfoy." Draco's body felt like it was going to explode if she walked out that door. Something in his chest area tightened a fist when his name fell out of her lips; something in his stomach must have cracked under the glare from the depths of her hazel eyes; and something _must_ have happened to his nether regions― Gods, excuse the cobwebs and the _out-of-service-for-a-hell-of-a-long-time_ sign― because his legs started to do a nervous jiggle.

"Granger." His resting bastard-face was something no one's little frown nor the stubborn set of jaw could chase away, but it was this close: he was grateful for the little inch of mercy given even to the worst of men to not have to fall so quickly all too soon. She turned to leave and all pairs of eyes followed the female. The air she left behind tasted sweeter.

Draco had to fight his eyes and declare a reluctant victory to not memorize how her feminine strut did for her behind, back to where his mind should have remained in the last five minutes.

Weasley shifted in his seat, frowning and growling under his breath. Draco flexed his fingers which he flexed his; as if something was lost from the other man's palms and Draco ached to grab hold of it.

Longbottom was just plainly staring. And _why the hell was he grinning_.

Potter was glaring, his fingers rolling his quill over the notepads; Draco stared at the fragile branch of feathers instead, and wondered what could make it break.

Draco Malfoy was getting uncomfortable under his colleagues' stares. And how something felt like the _everything_ that was never there before.

"What?"

 **Stage Two: _The Research_**

Draco Malfoy was never desperate. Draco Malfoy never speculated. Draco Malfoy never seek for answers. Draco Malfoy never does research. _If this even could be called research._

This was ridiculous was all Draco could ask himself two days later, as he finished yet another cup of coffee of the day ― only one spoon of sugar, he made damn sure of it― as he waited.

Draco Malfoy never waited. Draco Malfoy never waited impatiently. Fuck, but _she_ was still a no-show.

Draco Malfoy never tried, as nonchalantly as he could manage as the first attempt to ask un-interested; Draco Malfoy never tried to ask bloody Potter about her schedule and Draco Malfoy never expected Potter to give, commenting something ridiculous: _You can stop pretending you don't care, because you wouldn't ask if you aren't interested at all. Your acting's shit, by the way._

Draco Malfoy then promptly told him to shut his trap, thanked him and raced down to the coffee stand by the water foundation and waited until now. Potter might be pulling his leg, Draco suddenly realized.

Maybe something went haywire the day before yesterday, some mechanics in his brain just shut down and his brain ended up processing the wrong things and yelled out something to himself that sounded awfully like, " _Why, Granger looked beautiful._ " and his body was like, " _Why, you are completely right_." Fuck, the possibilities were endless.

And then― Draco Malfoy hated being proven wrong and he hated he was right at the same time as well: Granger, today in a blazer, shirt and her flattering pants― _must her legs look phenomenal in those heels?_ ― and her hair was straightened into a low ponytail and it made her cheekbones look sharper, her lashes longer.

Draco Malfoy never paid this much attention to all the details. Draco Malfoy never lose a few seconds of air when someone threw their head back to laugh at what the she-Weasley was saying.

Draco Malfoy had never felt as if his world shone brighter for a few moments, and when he blinked to see Granger bidding farewell to her friend, pulling the strap of her briefcase higher over her shoulder, tucked a lock of hazel hair back behind her ear and headed towards the Floo networks.

Draco's hands itched, tinged and tightened as he witnessed how she smiled or greeted the fortunate someones who she might know: but knowing her, she was just too nice, too compassionate, too kind and too good to not do that.

"Staring is considered stalker tendencies, you know."

Draco Malfoy was never caught off guard. Draco Malfoy never fumbles. Draco Malfoy never flushes. Draco Malfoy never would have blurted out to ask Ginny Weasley whether he friend was seeing someone. But let's face it, Draco Malfoy have never considered whether he would have the privilege to be smiled at by Hermione Granger.

"What?"

 **Stage Three: _The Validation_**

After three-hundred tosses of his Snitch, Draco Malfoy finally made himself to ask: "Blaise."

"What?"

Draco hesitated. Yes, it was a lads' night with former Slytherins: Theo, Blaise, bloody _FLint_ , Gideon Scalby (who invited him?), Adrian Pucey and some pureblood heir that was still in good terms with the Notts. He should have known better: his mind wasn't exactly functioning on the right page of the Malfoy playbook lately.

"Drake, what?" Blaise was staring at him over the top of his book. Just like his best friend, Draco's mind wasn't keen on betting away his hard-earned salary; his acquaintances could, however, because they had all out their inheritances overseas right before the Ministry cracked down on their fortunes. Draco trusted Blaise because he had chosen to stay, when his hag of a mother ― Narcissa would hit him over the head for his language― fled and married her sixth husband for a villa in Italy right before the last War started; they took away everything he had ever known and Blaise had only shrugged.

"Do you think ―" Why was this so bloody hard? It was an easy question: _Do you think I'm ready to date? Do you think anyone would want me? Do you think I'm going to die alone, heirless and relatively poor?_

Merlin, now he sounded fit as a lost and insecure twit.

"Do you think Granger would date me?"

A poker chip dropped. Blaise's _Book of the Living Draught_ ― why was he reading that? ― dropped onto his chest. Draco's stomach followed onto the floor.

He could have paraphrased it a bit, trimming the edges, icing the blunt truth; he could have made it into a big build-up, or he could have let Blaise guessed. But as soon as his words fell out of his mouth, he realized it didn't matter. He didn't have to _ask_ for his friend's approval. Hell, he never even thought of seeking permission from his parents. These were not the answer that he really thought mattered.

"Ah. I was wondering when someone noticed how hot she is now." The pureblood who-is-he drawled, flopping over his set of a royal flush. It wasn't the reaction he was hoping for because apparently, a Malfoy's potential love life was still more intriguing.

Draco Malfoy recently discovered he hated being the center of attention. He had his fair share of limelight performances (on top of his head: being turned into a bloody ferret by Barty Crouch Jr.) and his last stint at Wizengamot, he was tired of what his last name would always bring. Draco now held the phrase " _Don't judge me before you knew me_ " closely to his chest, alongside a certain someone very recently. He also regarded his new jealous streak justifiable as he glared at Who-The-Fuck-Is-This-Git-Can-Someone-Tell-Me.

"Shut the fuck up, Montague." Blaise drawled in Draco's place, throwing a look at his hand that was crushing his Snitch. "For once in your life, stop degrading women. You are not much of a looker as you think you are."

Draco silently echoed Blaise's stab. He never was enthusiastic about his platinum-blond hair, nor his Malfoy eyes, but allegedly this was the other reasons how he got the ladies during his Hogwarts days besides his now non-existent wealth. But now, his Malfoy traits were both a taboo and a curse to the life he wanted to make for himself that started with a decent job and salary in the Ministry and rooming with Blaise. Everything tolerable that was him faded against just one glance from Granger.

Theo spoke up. "Well, who is anyone kidding? She is a looker, all right."

 _Only a looker? More like I was goner after she looked at me_ , Draco sulked.

Scalby nodded along. "I never realized how pretty she was before I talked to her last week. Shame for Weasley for losing the dib."

Draco's inner monster perked up from sitting there like a sack of bezoar while his peers threw in their compliments on the witch who held his agony. Blaise rolled his eyes. "They never dated. Weasley thought his sorry arse had a chance but Granger simply said no, I'm sorry, but no. That girl not only have the looks, she got a decent brain."

Draco nodded once, and stopped himself from remarking how her legs looked in heels. _Stop being giddy, Malfoy. You haven't even started assembling for battle._

"My, you do know a lot about the Granger girl." What-Is-This-Fucker-Still-Doing-Here Montague jeered, his mouth stretched wide between a grin and a snarl.

Blaise shrugged again. "Nah, I talked to her yesterday after lunch," Draco realized he was literally excluded out of this conversation. Was he the last person in Britain to arrive to the fact that their former schoolmate had caught the attention of the entire wizard population?

Blaise glanced towards his friend, shook his head at his blank expression, and decided to throw him a bone, "I invited her to lunch, but she said no. Had a meeting, she said, always the busy one. Good luck to you, mate."

"What?"

 **Stage Four: _The Scenarios_**

Draco Malfoy always wanted to break away from a dream. Normally he would have dreams that would start by him standing on the highest tower at Hogwarts and the dreams would always end as he threw himself off the building and he would wake just before he hit the ground, just before he knew who the dream ended. Maybe he didn't want to know, maybe his brain was always shaking him to blink and awake before he could feel the fall.

But this time, Draco didn't want to wake up. He have had more vivid dreams, and most of them _hurt_ within the dream: this time around, he experienced a new kind of pain. He never ever knew the cold by his pillows could hurt; the lightness of his large bed chilling to his stomach; the emptiness of his arms must have bruised his bones because he hurt all over. It was as if his loneliness stretched even thinner and it fucking hurt.

Pain― he thought he was so accustomed to it, it wouldn't touch him. Draco brushed a stiff hand through his hair while his other skimmed over his collarbone: he could have sworn her locks only brushed against his skin seconds before. Did that extra yet brief glance make him dare to hope? No matter how brief it was, it was still something he had started to hold onto.

Draco was left wondering if dreams were meant to curse one's sleep or pledge one's waking hours with something that wasn't real at the first place.

Draco didn't know what to feel about these dreams: the particular kind that had his hand at the base of himself, his hands only giving a poor performance of what his subconscious clearly expected, because the dream had once again exceeded its expectation of real-ness. Draco barely stifled a groan as he finished almost pathetically in the history of wet dreams and his hair plastered against his clammy forehead, collapsed back into the bed and flushed all over. This was getting out of hand, literally: he only saw her once that day, one nod and a hint of a smile, and his hopes hit sky-high enough to have him jerk off to a dream with only tongue involved?

And Draco Malfoy never felt shame. _Ever_.

He drifted off with difficulty, worrying: Draco Malfoy never ― _oh, who was he kidding anymore, by now his life was nothing he had ever known_ ― about the coming day, how he would look her in the eye without wanting to continue what he started?

He decided dreams were for those who were not ready for an alternate reality. It was naïve, frankly. And it was where a Malfoy would start to seek for a clean slate.

Draco woke, one week later, and shocked himself when he slept through the night without any weird shit happening in the middle of the night. He had his undisturbed night of sleep in the last two years. Draco blinked for a full minute, before getting ready for work in a drunken daze.

Just before setting off to work, he realized the reason he hadn't dreamed that night: dreams were the escape from reality― why he should escape now, when all he wanted was there, sitting in the chair opposite his, a Prophet in front of her, a hand in her usually-wild mane in a ponytail, her teeth chewing on the end of a coffee stirrer and their― _their!_ ― breakfast next to her arm.

He wanted to get used to this bizarre reality first.

 **Stage Five: _The Blatantly-Obvious Small Talks_**

The first time Draco Malfoy plucked up his cowardice to talk to Hermione Granger, he fucked up in his second sentence royally.

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, Malfoy. What do you want?"

 _"You."_

She looked so offended Draco paled under his disbelieving look. He _had_ to go sounding all hopeful.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Why do you think that?"

She huffed and crossed her arms behind her large desk. Draco went ahead and admired the crook of her eyebrow.

"Because as of the past week, it seemed to me the entire former year of Slytherins all 'plucked up' the courage to ask me out." Granger quoted and unquoted.

Draco immediately wanted to punch himself. "No. I promise you. I'm― this ― I―"

Her smug smile was quickly making the corner of his eye twitch in ways he didn't know that particular corner of muscle could do. "Well, well, well. Draco Malfoy, stammering. I never thought I lived to see this day."

Salazar, her jeer was very, very sexy. "I could think of other ways for you to smile like that."

Now she was speechless.

"I did not just fucking say that."

"Uh, yes, you did just fucking say that, Malfoy."

The way her lower lip passed through her teeth before she swore… "Fuck." Indeed.

"Yeah." Granger was looking at him as if she had never seen him before. It was probably a good thing, it was for the best because he was about to go crawl into bed and just forget his existence. Who said living was this difficult?

Her smile was back with a vengeance on his dignity. "I don't exactly want to be blamed for your inner struggles with the question of life, so breathe, Malfoy."

The glint of her eyes and the twitch of the corner of her lips suddenly reminded him of someone he used to be close with, and her lips was rapidly becoming his personal favorite features about the witch. Draco did because to be completely honest, he would do whatever she told him to do at this point of time.

"Well, if you put it that way, how about we start small? A coffee would be great."

Draco's new favorite word was 'we'.

 **Stage Six: _The Finale_**

That was it. There was only five stages of admitting he had a crush on someone, namely Hermione Jean Granger, because during stage five, he already had the endgame in his head.

This was the finale of _The Six Stages of Having A Crush: Draco Malfoy edition_ : he never made it to the end of stage five because by then, he realized he already knew he should draw up another list in his head: _The Stages of Falling in Love with Hermione Jean Granger._

And it was a long list, I could tell you that.

* * *

 **A/N** : this was fun


	10. after practice

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : Head Prefect-Sharing-A-Room trope

 **Word Count** : 786 words

* * *

Hermione retrieved the hand that dangled over the lip of the tub to stay dry for turning pages and ran a finger down the paragraph, and unwinding her wand from the bun of her hair and tucked it between the chapter. She placed her book and wand to the high chair next to the claw tub; she was meant to wash her hair anyway, so she let her locks fall over her chest and into the scented lukewarm bathwater. The water rippled as she inhaled deep, and submerged her head along with her Arithmancy-filled mind below docks.

Sounds muffled under water, movement became lucid, brainwaves turned stagnant. She knew she shouldn't be pushing herself so hard with schoolwork. She knew she shouldn't try to continue framing three long essays the size of what her parents' thesis had been worth. She knew she shouldn't think that her best friends would bother writing to her when they were busy with Auror training and joke-shop running. She knew she shouldn't boss the Prefects around and have them look at her as if the Head Girl was a chicken with its head cut off. She knew she shouldn't often get into verbal-sparring with _Draco Malfoy_ just for the kicks. She knew. _She knew_.

She also knew that a certain House team's Quidditch practice was done ten minutes ago and someone certainly was not expecting the bathroom being occupied because it wasn't in their compromised schedule. _Who knew she was not the only controlling freak of nature in wizardry existence? Why can't she have a bath at 11p.m. anyway?_

Hermione broke the surface of the bath early just so the water could calm before he would barge in. She left only her chin up above water, and only her eyes and the top of her head would be seen if he had anticipated her ' _violating his bath schedule_ ' at the first place.

Draco Malfoy came into the room five seconds later, growling under his breath, his fingers fussing over his left elbow patch, his tongue poking out from his mouth at the corner in concentration. His fringe was matted to his forehead and at the back of his head, hair was sticking up all over the place as if the wind had caressed through his hair and loved the process.

Hermione couldn't help it: she bit down on the pad of her finger as she blatantly stared at him from head to toe. If anyone could carry the Slytherin emerald green, it was him. If anyone could carry the Slytherin Quidditch uniform, oh, it was definitely him; she wouldn't even be biased at her measurements: she briefly had a fling with a Bulgarian Quidditch stud, and her best friends were previously on the team. That man, even when he was struggling under his breath to free his shins from the protective gear, came out on top.

She was torn as to what emotions to bring out at his not-really-seduction with undressing. Gone was the graceful snot that was her stupid room-mate; she flattened her lips when he out-rightly cursed when his aching limbs couldn't reach the back of his chest piece. The whole situation was silly, she would admit, hiding naked just so she could have seats to the show her still-unsuspecting roommate was giving. But she had to rest her head quietly and gnaw on her fingernail when the show finally stopped being… _ungraceful_.  
With the leather gear on the floor like confetti, and his cape tossed over his shoulders into a pool of silver, she could appreciate how the green uniform clung to him like second skin. Her pursed lips rose to the side as his flexing forearms clutched his biceps in, and her stare had to go down over his stomach to his behind, clad in those tight Quidditch pants.

Mind you, she still hated the sport, but as Malfoy pulled his shirt over his head and his hair stood like a bird's nest… _no_ , she still couldn't stand the games, but _uniforms_ and _cool down exercises_ she could tolerate. A sheen of sweat dotted over his chest, and there was a patch of blue bruise at the centre of his ribs, and she watched him tracing the shape that definitely was from the circle of a quaffle, his tongue poking his cheek out. He peeled his gloves off and tossed them to the floor before grasping and with both of his arms planked over the marble washing basin, proceeded to do push-ups and counting them under his breath.

 _Oh_ , Hermione _knew_ it was not polite to stare, so she turned her head back towards the ceiling, her hand to her mouth and hid her grin. And waited.

* * *

 **A/N** : Writing this is physically straining I really couldn't with words. Back to my angst cocoon.


	11. stitches

**Pairing:** Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count:** 632 words

 **Setting:** Christmas during the War (e.g. opposing sides, or redeemed/order!Draco) for #dhrfavorites december

* * *

"You left without telling me." Her eyes didn't automatically trace the lines of his shoulders, but looked towards the table, at the crimson cloth, the basin of water and the string he was currently trying to thread through the needle with only one hand. He had changed, clearly, taking into account how spotlessly un-damaged his sweater was, and as she edged closer, the smell of sweat, mud and blood were absent.

"You weren't conscious for me to tell." Was his absent reply. then she shook as she could hear, not see, him prying his flesh open, and how his calloused hands brushed against the wooden handle.

She waited until he cursed lowly, sucked on his teeth until he no longer was in need of the knife and landed it with a dull _thud_ on the table before going up to see his injury for the day. "Why don't you use a wand?"

By then, he had already closed the wound with his fingers, laid the inside of his wrist over the sponge beneath his hand. She watched without breathing as the casted hand grasped a needle, and his free hand unraveled the ball of black string. He still ignored her until he managed to pushing the string through. "It didn't feel the same as stitches." He emphasised his point by stabbing the needle in and criss-cross over his porcelain skim. "How easy it feels to heal when you got the injury by taking a few lives with you." He gave an extra hard tug so that the skin at the end of his wrist-bone pulled upwards so he could hurt more.

She ignored his annoyed grunt and took the knife from him and sniped the spare string off. "It's war. No one's innocent."

He thought she wasn't looking as she took the healing kit from him, but she saw him pull his sleeve down, as if now both of his arms bared the same abomination as his left did. "Who am I if I have no remorse? Yes, they were the enemy, but they were humans, too. They had breathed, they had lived and they were fighting for what they believed in. Who am I to proclaim the better of the species among us?" He used his free pinkie finger to trace over his sentenced limb.

She took his intact hand in hers; it was still icy from the water, laced with his own coldness towards what he had done. This was Draco Malfoy in the present day, the Draco Malfoy who had fought alongside the Order for nine months, the Draco Malfoy who had nearly let venom travel up the hand which bore his cursed signet to set himself free, the Draco Malfoy who would still gasp as she laid kisses on his bare chest too early in the mornings, the Draco Malfoy who had kissed her on the forehead that morning before taking her mission with the guilt and the nightmares that were meant for her.

This was the Draco Malfoy that kept her going, the man who he had become was the person she was desperately and delicately in love with. They could never be prepared enough to survive in that world, but he was enough for her to keep on fighting.

"I'm glad I would have a warm body next to me tonight." She would let it go for now. He would have a hard time that night, and she would be holding him through it, just as he would always do for her.

"Glad to be wanted as such." Draco chucked under her chin, and she scrunched up her nose to frown.

And then she stood over him, clasping his face in her hands, murmured, "I'm thankful I'm spending Christmas with you." before slating her lips over his.

* * *

 **A/N** : hey it wouldn't be me if i don't make a festive and happiest season of the year angsty and gloomy and dark


	12. one plus one

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : _**merry christmas yer filthy hippogriffs!**_

 **Word Count** : 530 words

 **Prompt/Inspired By** : _It isn't the gifts, the tree, the stockings or bows, it's us, finally_ _._

* * *

"Open up."

"Draco, no. I'm so full I could puke." She pushed his spoonful of mash away and towards his own mouth as she climbed onto his lap to appease his crest-fallen frown. "You are too good of a cook that I must have eaten a week's worth of Christmas dinners in the past hour."

"You still have room for dessert?" He accepted the potatoes with an extra glint in his silver eyes when she wounded her arms over his shoulders.

She dampened her lower lip with her tongue and her front teeth scraped at her full lip, "What kind…?" the juncture of her hips brushed over his naval, "The usual?" and he abandoned the spoon on the floor and smoothed his hands down her back, "Or just chocolate ice-cream without brownies?" Her bright smile was mocking because of the ninety-degrees turn, answering his mock glare.

"Mint chocolate chip for you because you didn't finish the last spoonful of perfectly executed mash potatoes made by yours truly."

She rolled her eyes before knotting her fingers and pulled him into her headspace, letting all of him into her perspective, as if he hadn't already cemented himself in her life for the past years. "I happen to _adore_ mint."

 _Oh, little lioness, but the snake came to play._ "Not on my person, you don't."

Now it was her turn to glare; combing the hair at the back of his head, she muttered into his ear, "Did I mention the Christmas present I was going to give you after dinner and you were all excited and entranced?"

He scoffed and his palms travelled over her body and cupped her face, "I wasn't even paying attention to anything you were saying for the whole dinner and that is all I can think about."

He kissed her then, long and hard and all tongues and fingers buried in her hair just the way he wanted, just the way he craved, just the way he had always been doing. Could he imagine the rest of his life not having the privilege of making Hermione Granger warm, wanton and breathless in his lap? It wasn't even a possibility to ponder over and keep himself up all night. The box at the pocket of his jeans poked him in the butt as if to tell him to _fucking man up and do what his life seemed to be leading up for._

He had to tear his lips from the hollow of her throat, "All of this," he murmured, "Christmas dinners, ridiculous Gryffindor decorations on the tree, clashing green and silver around the house, dreading visitations with your extended family and mine, I do care a lot for them. I truly do. But this," Draco Malfoy closed his eyes briefly as he could nearly feel how her brown eyes glazed over his own features, "This is all I would ever need. You have everything I would ever need. You— us— it's already more than I could ever dream of."

She stilled when he released one hand from her and reached behind —

She took the hand and placed it over her stomach, "Are you sure? Are _we_ enough for you?"


	13. the prodigal son

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting: _merry christmas yer filthy hippogriffs!_**

 **Word Count** : 546 words

* * *

His grey eyes widened and so did his son's. The baby let out a giggle disguised as a shriek, and clutched his fists towards the ceiling. His father, with his mouth still slightly open, bent over and took his son from the crib before the snowflakes could reach him.

"How's my little wizard?" Draco Malfoy never cooed, or make abnormal faces but then again, he never thought he would be good with kids. Teddy's six-month-and-counting mob of blonde hair consolidated that he was indeed idolized by children around the ages of two-months to five years of age.

"Um, why is it snowing in the room?" Came the voice of his wife, the tone when she was suspicious and in an interrogating mood on whatever her husband seemed to be doing without her permission.

"You should ask our heir." He raised Scorpius up in the air so he could see his mother over his father's head, and blew a raspberry over his stomach. "He seemed to have inherited my love for wintertime, too." The baby flayed his pyjama-cladded legs about and laughed. Merlin blessed their son, he was even clapping. Draco took him back into his arms before he would get more excited and burred his face in his son's neck and watched Hermione's beam reach her lips.

"You owe me a hundred Galleons. Two months old! _Exactly_ two months old!" _Like mother, like son_ , Draco mused when Hermione reached for their son by beckoning him with her palms.

"You bet on our son's magical abilities for money?" He accused, but relented Scorpius to Hermione.

Their baby caught hold of his mother's finger and stuffed it between his gums; his eyes focused on Hermione's as he concentrated to keep the finger in his mouth.

Hermione giggled and peppered his head with kisses, "Says the heir's father who bet fifty for three months and underestimated his son altogether."

Draco took his family into his arms and pinched Hermione's nose, "At least we are winning the money back from Potter for saying five."

Hermione stuck her tongue out and brushed her fingers over her son's dark blonde hair, "And twice as much from your father, apparently."

He shrugged and pulled the onesie down from his son's back, "Well, I told him so."

His wife gave him a wink, "How does it feel to be replaced as the spoiled son in the Malfoy family, Malfoy?"

"Well, Mrs. _Malfoy_ , I don't care if my parents spoil Scorpius, as long as _his_ mother spoil me in all the ways she has perfected _well_."

"Draco! Our baby!"

He loved her for giving him a son, he loved her for blushing when he teased her, he loved her for holding onto their son like the treasure retrieved from the Black Lake, "Hermione, I will only have a few more months before I could no longer flirt with you in front of him without him glancing between us _knowingly_. Give me that much."

Hermione pulled Draco's jaw to hers and kissed him, "Fine. Place your bets, mister."

"Eight months? With a townhouse in Wales and fifty Galleons."

"A new library wing in that townhouse in Wales and sixty."

"Deal."

Scorpius looked up at his parents and beamed, as if he was in on the secret.

* * *

 **A/N:** always wanted to write scorpius into a drabble :)


	14. never fall in love with strangers

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : muggle au

 **Word Count** : 309 words

* * *

 _i._

she first noticed his wrists, pale as snow against midnight black cuffs, folding his glasses from the bridge of his nose. she kept on staring as he glanced up, caught her gaze, and packed up his things as if he was scared she was going to go over.

* * *

 _ii._

she blew out a mouth, and licked the tail of the smoke to catch the taste of recklessness. it was a bad habit, she knows, but lately, she's all for bad habits. she kicked her boot on the ground, her free hand rilling up her bike to a storm. When he didn't look up from her engine, the tar tasted sour and she flung it in front of her, and let the tires run over and kill the light.

* * *

 _iii._

she bit down at the corner of her thumbnail as he stuck his thumb into his mouth to lick the icing away from his victoria sponge. he wasn't trying, and she was fully aware.

* * *

 _iv._

it was a hard month, and because he was like a drug, she was gasping, writhing and groaning in her bed, her mind only on how he would feel, how he would smell, and what she would let him have her. she tried, but it was not the same. nothing was him when everything was about him. she gasped, and nothing.

* * *

 _v._

of course he would have a girl. he did. of course. why did she think otherwise. the girl's brown hair was straight, tamed and ruled. her own was fair from it. the girl smiles; and she never does. he would smile at his girl, and he would never know she exists. the arch of his throat as he threw his head back in a laugh would haunt her dreams.

* * *

 _vi._

 _why did she think a redhead would be a good distraction?_

* * *

 **A/N** : this was weird.


	15. contiguous

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : _out of bounds_

 **Word Count** : 987 words

* * *

"You don't… you are not normally…"

"What?" He asked, with a low smile and his lips ghosted over her temple, his nose brushed her hair.

She exhaled, affected. "You are normally not this affectionate."

He took his hand from the small of her back and draped his arm over her shoulders. "Since when do you prefer us to be _normal_?" He wasn't being his patronizing self, that side of him against suggestive headlines or skeptical stares. It was an enquiry, a curious observation.

"I would never call _this_ normal." She admitted, weaving her fingers with his.

He wounded his arm tighter so that she needed to put her arm around his waist, "You normally don't like me when I do this," and her lips met his grin.

"On the contrary," she said, slipping her hand into his jeans pocket, "I only like you when you do that."

He pulled at a lock of her hair by her chin, "Did you just admit you keep me around for sex?"

She boldly stopped them walking and tugged him into her by his arse. "Pride wounded?"

His thumb brushed aside her lip gloss from her mouth so he could taste her, "Challenge accepted."

It was their own secret, their own bubble away from ridicule, away from their armor and swords against the world that never seemed to allow boundaries or respect to persist in their lives. He would always remember how the morning sun illustrated every arch, writhe and breath of her body, just as she won't forget the abandon of affection he could bestow upon her during walks along the beach. So many words were exchanged between, commitment dancing around promises and fear chased into a cardboard box of souvenirs they had collected throughout the trip.

He cupped his hands at the base of her skull, "Are you ready to go home?"

"My home is where you are." She could say it as a fact now, without having to practice in the mirror to make her eyes look more convincing; she shackled his wrists with her hands with earnest.

"I know…" he replied quietly, "What about England?"

Go back to where they couldn't touch under the limelight, back to where they had to attend functions separately, where sneaking to his house felt like a hideous crime?

"As my wife." He added even more quietly, but she saw that coming.

Her answer was already sealed in an envelope at the back of her head, but she had a different direction to brave against: "Would we last?"

He was prepared to tell her they could wait, or worse, not to worry about rejecting him because: "Why would you ask that?"

"You are asking me to marry you… what if you stop?"

They didn't say _that_ word that often: it was their thing- _you ate the last egg?_ was _I missed you before breakfast_ ; _have you finished that page?_ was _I adore you_ ; _you'll get sun-burned_ was _I care about you_ ; _don't you dare cut your hair_ was _I need you as you are_ , and _would we last_ was _I don't think I can stop loving you that much_.

"Granger, I should be asking you that question." _What makes you think I'm capable of falling out of love with you?_

"Well, it's me. I ask these questions for a living."

Often he wanted to hug her into him, so when her heart thunders in her chest, she would also hear how his own roars and flounces.

"If you are asking whether those- " he didn't want his frustration ruining the mood, so he channeled his jolt of emotion into placing his hands on her bare back, hoping he could be seared into her so she would know he could never leave. "-people could write up nonsense that would make me regret this, you are terribly mistaken." _Since the moment you chose me as well, I haven't cared one bit._

"I do like to be wrong sometimes." She replied; she wasn't just talking about what lies waiting outside their bubble- those she could care less: she had lived most of her life sharing the beam of the magnifying glass that her skin had grown thick. But she wanted, needed even, to spend the rest of her life with him, and he was the one who holds the key to that particular future.

She knew just how many things he regretted, and she didn't know what she could do if she was to become one of them, a potential hazard that threatens to explode, another scar that refuses to heal.

She bit down on her lip, and he pulled it free gently. "Well, we both know you always have to have your way." _You are sewed into my seams in a way that terrifies me._

She scoffed, "You always have to win and whine if you don't have the last word." _If you leave, you will rip me apart._

"You like arguing with me," _That's how sure I am_ , "You called it intellectual debate, I remember."

"Our arguments are usually about law books and potion ingredients, so it's justified." _That's how in love with you I am_.

"I like us this way, and so do you." _That's how I know what an honor it is to be in love with you, Hermione Jean Granger._

 _Why do I deserve you, Draco Lucius Malfoy?_ She traced his lower lip in return, "So we remain one?" _I bury your ghosts; you bury my demons._

"So we become one. We walk this road together." _And I will love you in all the ways I can, and I will try harder to find more._

"So we go back and face the music." _And we can be strong for the both of us_.

 _I can't live without you_. "What music? It's just white noise to me."

 _You will never have to from this moment on._ "… by the way, I do."

* * *

 **A/N** : this one is really close to my heart, i guess


	16. fifty galleons

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : Auror Training

 **Word Count** : 157 words

* * *

"I bet you ten Galleons."

"Come on, that's _too_ little."

"You can be a dick sometimes."

"Well, what are you betting against me then?"

"Fifty."

"Fifty? I know you're filthy rich, Harry, but fifty?"

"Yes: thirty he could cast it, and twenty for it to be a ferret."

"Fine. I'm doing fifty, too, but if I win, you're treating me lunch."

"I always treat you lunch. But, deal."

"Deal. And why isn't Hermione forcing him to actually do the spell?"

"It's them. She won't ever get impatient."

" _Pfft_. They've been in there for two hours."

"You just had breakfast, Ron."

"What? It's going to be a ferret, so why fuel the suspense?"

"It's gonna be- ha, come on, Malfoy, make me rich."

"… what? A bloody _otter_?"

" _Godric_ , why have I never thought about that?"

"Bloody hell. It's just sitting right in front of us. Damn it-"

"Wait, why is Hermione's Patronus a _dragon_ now?"


	17. enough

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : continuation of _I Have Been Waiting_

 **Word Count** : 1277 words

* * *

He was so warm it was almost suffocating. The breaths of air tasted like rust, of damp grass, of singed parchment. He could hardly see anything but he wasn't trying to; he kept his eyes closed and gasped in more polluted oxygen.

His head moved side by side, the sensible thing to do so that he could clear his senses and know what was going on, but he was done doing the right thing. He was done doing what he was supposed to in order to live.

He wasn't living. He knew it, his parents knew it, those who counted him as their friend knew it. This, he had started calling it over five years ago, was simply surviving. Putting food in his mouth, consuming water and getting out of bed for work were all temporary acts to live the life he had survived for. Drinking or staying in the study were times when he felt as if he was living, but to him, it also felt as if he was being sawed in half and dying all over again, time and time, repeatedly, constantly, agonizingly.

Believe _him_ , he tried. He tried and failed, and went into the study, got out and tried again. That cycle only worked for four years, and then everything just went downhill from then, and right at this moment, when he was choking on his own spit, it felt like he had reached Hell.

So he took one last breath, and he finally gave in to the defeating part of his mind and rest.

Time always passed so slowly when he closed his eyes. Nights felt like two full moons, and days seemed to drag like the trail of the sun in the middle of deserts, and the ticking of clocks always sounded like canons with the flicker of flames burning through the fuse yet never goes off.

Fingers brushed through his hair and he felt his cheek rise against the softest of pillows. His unmoving fingers could feel the crisp of the shirt, of the warmth emitting from the flesh, and he could register why the musk of vanilla and water-lilies shot a hole through his own chest.

"I… I wasn't expecting this." His throat was probably still clogged with all the smoke, because he couldn't speak the words.

A feather's touch and a hand enveloped his own, and brushed against his flesh as if satin had passed through in-between his fingers.

"I wasn't expecting you."

Despair could play cruel tricks on people and that he knew all too well. He had seen it in the people that was previously in his life, when they thought they would have a chance of redemption away from prison, but then was sentenced for life to incarceration: he could light forests up with the lights that went out in the depths of their eyes. He had rejoiced, of course, as they had been dragged to their own versions of hell, but the exhilaration had often been encountered by a thoughtful reminder that he was within that category of being.

Nothing was keeping him from going back. He had tried, tried not for himself, and failed and failed so many times he was used to it. He had been weak, and he _was_ weak, but if this was real, he was more than fine with that trait being the only reminder of his life. He was fine with it.

The first thing he saw when he crept his eyes open was their joint hands. Hers was pale like his, and their fingers were frighteningly alike, slender and long. And then it was her curls, volumes of it, snaking along her chest, her shoulders and fanning over her head.

And he fell into the orbs of her chocolate brown eyes.

He was reminded once again there were thing more important than life itself: every flutter of her eyelashes, every wrinkle of her brow, every twitch of her nose, every flex of her ankles, every lift of her legs, every breath that she had taken.

He fully condones loving someone so much he feels like dying when he stared into her eyes.

"They came for me." He wanted to say something else; he didn't want to get so comfortable with the sense of relief and calm since he had learned his lesson all those years ago.

She ran a hand down her face and he thought that her head went out of focus for a spilt second, so he moved closer still. They both sighed when her hold on him never wavered.

"I know. They were tracking you, and you were tired."

"Careless." He breathed. The melody of her voice sunk into his pores and his whole body just wanted to burrow further into hers and let them become one again. He felt like he was drunk; his eyes felt like they were on fire.

"Weighed down." She was good at defending him just as he was good as surrendering. That never could change.

"Stalling." It was an obvious explanation to him, and it was pretty clear without the shrug.

She gave him a look, "Cheating." and he almost managed a smile.

It was their game, one word back and fro, to convey meaning worth paragraphs, or sometimes sonnets or symphonies.

"You weren't supposed to be here so soon." She was whispering, and he could the crystal of a tear ran down from the corner of her eye and down her cheek.

She was real. He was real. Her warmth was real. The lack of pain was real.

"Ten years is long enough."

She kept her solid fingers on his mouth after following the shape of his lips when he talked. "It is." It was rare of her to admit that out loud.

"It _was_." She was tangible now, no longer a clasp of cool spring breeze, or a ray of scorching hot sun, or the fallen leaves that slipped out of his fingers, and surely she wasn't just the bone-warming hot chocolate beside burning hot coals in the midst of the howling snow.

"You know, I hurt to see how ready you were."

"And for that, I'm sorry." It slowed his heart to know that she was looking upon him, and she had kept her promise and waited for him.

"I'm sorry, too." He shut his eyes tight as she ran a shaky hand through his hair. "For too many things."

He needed to say it; just make it as a fact as it was an assumption, "For leaving me."

"For saving you."

"That is not-"

"It was. You lived _for_ me. I lived _in_ you."

He was shaking his head and his world was spinning. "Endurance."

"Perseverance." Now her arms were shaking around him.

"Torture."

"Redemption."

That stopped him. He didn't know if he should be angry, or he should feel relieved.

She _witnessed_. She _accompanied_. She was _there_.

Yes, it was his redemption, the drive to be the man he was supposed to be, to be the man that was worthy of her, that had kept him going.

"Was it enough? Was I enough?"

"I loved you, was that?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to." He retorted, and that made her laugh.

"They will miss this. Your sharp tongue and your dry remarks."

"I would be more entertained to see them weep by my grave." He tapped between her eyes to stop her from rolling them. If that reminded him how he had done the same thing to her, it didn't matter anymore.

She was here. And he was with her.

That was more than enough for him.

* * *

 **A/N:** this was so stuck in my head that i needed it to get out


	18. drink me

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : Half Blood Prince AU

 **Word Count** : 820

 **Tag** : Hogwarts!Dramione, Secret!Dramione

 **Trope** : _Obliviate_

* * *

She had no idea how Neville had managed to get hold of the bulk of scopolamine, and managed to keep their transaction a secret. _Use a mortar and pestle for best effect; it apparently works best when a warm-bodied host grinds them into a teaspoon of olive oil_ , he wrote in the note she had crumbled up after she had read it once.

She rolled the small tube attached to the note as well between her fingers and a shiver went down her spine: what started as a research project to impress Slughorn now had another meaning, rendering the purpose into something as forbidden as selfishness. The marble pestle was cool to touch, and she put a single gather of Devil's Breath in with Neville's sample and bind the contents together. She smashed the mortar with excessive anguish and force, projecting all the childish things she wanted to hold on to, and to not ask why bad things happen to good people all the time.

She wondered if a few tears would fulfil the trick, but she had long ran out to spare. When her experiment was as smooth as Liquid Luck, she put down the mortar and rummaged into her robes for the tubes. The pair was as thick as her ring finger, in a dull emerald green; she filled up the tubes and put a stopper on her hope and their fate.

She waved her wand so the traces of her trials disappeared and was left with nothing but a memory; she Transfigured the pestle kit into a thank you note to Neville, and slipped it under the boys' dormitory on her way out.

She still had a few moments alone in their corridor, so she resumed the pretence of writing up the latest Defense essay, aptly and ironically about Unforgivable curses and she was writing about the Forgetfulness Curse and reasons why it should be made illegal.

"I haven't started that." The menace usually in his voice was non-existent as his footsteps and she blamed for time to hurry them forward.

"I'm just doing the outline and some research." The nonchalance in their first interaction had seeped in the instant comfort and reassurance from hearing his voice, but she didn't have the heart to mind. That would be a full circle, a token that it was as real as they made it to be.

Perhaps it was his instinct, or it was the cowardice he often sharpens against himself that hurried him to rip the bandage off. "I'm not sorry." His clutched jaw betrayed his conviction in his voice.

"I don't count on you to." Her voice was as steady as his when both of them were no longer lying.

There was nothing else to say anymore; when he had woken from the infirmary after the bathroom incident and met her eyes, the compromise had been sealed, no more bargaining, no tug-of-war.

He touched his fingertips over the shell of her ear, her pale face and over her exposed collarbones. "Fifty-two days will last me a long, long time."

"Not long enough." Her fingers drove under his sweater and shirt, and trembling fingers met the healing line of the scar on his torso.

"It will never be enough with you, Granger; I think you know that about me already." He felt sick to his stomach apart of what they were about to do: only in times of being driven apart could he find the courage to admit his feelings to the one person who knew him like the back of his hands.

"Goodbye, Draco." It couldn't be a farewell: it was inevitable that they are going to meet in the battlefield, on polar sides, on different grounds, on opposite agendas. He would resume hating her, and she would resume suspicious of him.

He reached for her waist, "Goodbye… Hermione." That was why they decided to do this, to severe the ties before they were bond too tight.

He waited for her to raise her wand to his temple before doing the same to her; he had to reach out once again to hold her shaking wrist steady and one final kiss.

Their voices mingled in the cold dusk, casting what they had aside and away: _Obliviate_.

.

.

.

.

Her scar itched un-bearably. The headaches were getting worse. Her nightmares were crawling into her blood stream and seeping into her heart. Twisting her neck and hearing the bones crack, she staggered over to the medicine cabinet and pushed potion bottles tinkling aside. Her fingers made to reach for the orange prescription bottle, but one dull green tube behind the plastic containers caught her eye.

 _Warmth emitting from the tube.  
_

 _The scent of blueberries.  
_

 _One last kiss that tasted of longing, of worry, of want, of the salt of their misery._

 _I don't really know what this is, but I will just bring it along. Just in case._

 ** _DRINK ME_.**

* * *

 **A/N** : I made up the formula for the reverse-obliviate antidote. i guess it worked?


	19. the first few miles

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : Death Hallows AU

 **Word Count** : 675

 **Tag** : turncoat!draco

* * *

"We wouldn't make five miles." She said, gathering the blanket over her bare chest and sat up. His hand fell from her mane of curls and trailed down her spine, his fingers running along the slight concave on her back.

"Why do you say that?" They have never discussed about their plan before, still in their heady cocoon of intimate revelation. It was the fifth day, in the middle of nowhere he had Disapparated them once she gave him her consent, and being the responsible one as usual, he had noticed when her shoulders had tightened once again. Fulfilling the right obligations were never his strong suit, compared with his lover, his first instinct was to do good by himself only: he had her now, and by doing right by her, he would lose her in the process. He knew it from the start, from the first time he laid eyes on her and his heart almost stopped.

"I can't leave them behind." She couldn't meet his eyes, because the moment she broke the bubble unintentionally, waking up in his warm arms shivering from a silly dream, she stared the engine of going back. "I will always want to go back."

He was nodding before she finished her sentence. He understood, surprising even himself, because that part of her was what made him fall in love with her at the first place. He dared say if she didn't have that in her, he would not love her as much as he did now. "What do you suggest we do?" She would want to go back, and he would let her. Damn it all to hell, he would follow right after her.

She turned back to the boy who was still lying stationary on the mattress, his arm cushioned by his blonde head; the Mark stood out over his porcelain skin and his snow-white hair. "Let's go back… and… You don't have to run anymore." He was either Adonis or the Devil himself. It really depends on the look in his steel-grey eyes: whenever they were arguing, arguing very badly sometimes, the look in his eyes intimidated her, reminding painfully the boy he once was; but she would trade anything (except him) just to have him stare at her as he did when he told her he was in love with her.

He pulled at the roots of his hair. He hated when she was unconsciously pleading her with her doe eyes, the soft furrow of her brows and he hated when he could read every emotion on her face now.

She was too right, however: Potter didn't break him out of Azkaban just to give him back to her; they still have not fulfilled their agreement. Now the Order was in more danger because he was out and in their protection.

He was the most selfish when he was with her, if that was even possible. He wanted to make her happy, but by fulfilling the criteria of making her happy, he would potentially lose her, and it was going to be in the foreseeable future. The fact that they now were in the middle of nowhere, the chances of her life in more danger had increased Merlin knows how much. Both of them understood that completely, and that was why she was starting to guilt.

He was sinning during the time he seek for redemption and he knew that even redemption comes with other consequences.

"We'll go back."

She nodded, and allowed him to envelop her back into his arms. "We will go back and we will fight. Together."

He would go back and they would keep on fighting; but he could never make anymore promises he knew he would not be able to keep.

"Together. Until the end." She kissed him first, a reverse of what started this all.

Each touch was more precious than the last second now, when there was once more a ticking clock over their heads, counting down to the minute when surely someone would lose the other.


	20. how to save a life

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : medieval au (?)

 **Word Count** : 1801

 **Tag** : Princess!hermione, Knight!draco

* * *

"Good evening, my lady."

Hermione jumped from hovering over the parchment and her ink-soaked quill splattered over her white dress.

"Malfoy!" She wanted to come across angry, but the arched corner of his mouth whisked her annoyance away just for a split second, however, she caught the bruise along his jaw line in the next. She fought the urge to ground her teeth because she was not going to show him how much she cared.

Malfoy noticed the direction of disapproving eyes and rubbed over his chin absently. "I was distracted." He defended himself, and grumbled under his breath about weasels and red hair.

Hermione returned to her table, took the presser and rolled over the drying notes before setting the sheets of music back into the pile and at the centre of her table.

The candles around her study bounced off the bronze bedposts, the marble floors and the bronze of her hair. Gone were the intricate headdress and pins and jeweled flowers, her mane of hair was untamed, slightly damp from a bath so that the ends curled up, the rest bushy and wild. Draco moved forward, his eyes never leaving her delicate neck, the slender line of her cream shoulders, and the landscape of her body that seemed far too fragile for her own good. He glanced away before he could not stop himself and took off his gloves. "Have I disappointed you, my lady, for I had lost the match this afternoon?" He kept his head down, bowing to his superior, his ruler, his conqueror.

She hid a smile and waved a dismissive hand. "You could have done better with that trick I have spent countless mornings teaching you."

He managed a wolfish grin, "I must be sorely distracted from the lack of sleep to pay attention to your every minute detail."

"You got predictable," her thumbnail scratched at her lower lip; her own tell, unconsciously betraying her, "Unfurling and clutching your fingers around the handle twice before you strike?"

"It is not a tell-tale for an un-trained eye." He commented, shrugging.

A hint of betrayal flashed across his princess's eyes, "Hm, that did not explain why you lost out to Weasley."

 _Was he going to?_ Lord Weasley was gentle, caring and he would make a better companion for her: Hermione Riddle deserved a gentle soul, not a man as himself, whose intention of courting his precious daughter was to raise in the king's court at the first place. He had thought, by infatuated with his king's daughter, surely her father would understand where his loyalty belongs: however, he got more than he thought was enough. He wore the circle's armour, he was taught by the army's strongest, and he was in the princess's bedroom and her under his skin.

Draco cleared his throat, caught her hand so their right arms aligned. "Perhaps I would like to be trained properly some more."  
She stared at their arms, pale against tanned skin, and her breath hitched; everything her father had taught her: _only love those who give you power; love them back and drain theirs for yourself._ This soldier, her father's ward no less, gave her power, but it was not the power King Riddle had taught her to collect: the most dangerous yet the ultimate strength: _lo_ -

Both of her hands grabbed hold of him and she pulled him down from his towering height to where their foreheads touched, the tip of their noses brushed against and where their lips could connect. It had been two fortnights too long since she had done this, since his touch and his scent erased all the doubt, the fear and the obligations she had to struggle with in order to live with the fact that she was going to take the throne as she turned twenty in a month's time.  
Sometimes, she could not look him in the eye because it was as if his grey orbs would speculate what had she and her father done to their enemies that day, and when he moved to touch her, she would be examining the cracks of her fingers for blood that he thought might have not been washed away. _Salazar_ , if only the poor Weasley boy knew what she did in her spare time, besides training under Dolohov and Lestrange in potion making and duelling, was to sit at the high table while Tom Riddle plotted to take another kingdom and destroying even more lives. She never lifted a finger to hurt anyone, but she knew that time was near, and she already had the murder gene and his blood running through her veins.

And this boy, this brave knight-to-be, was in love with her. How foolish, how stupid, how pathetic, how cruel this must be how her own dose of salvation tasted, how her soul could be cleansed: by dragging the other's soul to hell with her.

"Are you leaving with me or not?" She spoke too quietly, but his lips moved along with her words that shot into his heart. He held on her brittle wrists and tugged her free from his hair; he could see her visibly deflate as she brought up the taboo topic that hung as thick as fog, clouding both of their judgement.

She was striking, Draco observed in awe because she was indeed a masterpiece: one long thin braid in the forest of her hair hovering over her white dress, her collarbones exposed to his eyes and his eyes only, her full mouth red from his stubble; but she was stubborn and once she had set her mind onto something, she could never let it go. "Why must you ask that of me? You know why we cannot." She could have his world and it would never be able to compete that of what she was entitled to. All he ever dared to hope for was to stand by her and within her full control to the realm in the palm of her hand.

"We _cannot_?" Suddenly, Hermione could see how her rope of redemption was slipping further from her fingers. Here he was, thinking that her plan to run away was his influence and was going to destroy her life. Her visions came in-and-out of focus as anything she had looked for was disappearing right then and there. "You are the one who refused."

"I did that for you, and I will do it until you come to your senses." _What was she doing, thinking he was capable of allowing her to give up her birthright?_

"I want you to do this for me. I am throwing away this life so we could be together." _So I do not have to bare the weight of my father's cross._

"You are going to lose _everything_." He whispered harshly, fury flaring within him. _To exchange for a flimsy future with an elopement that would put them in Riddle's way of rule?  
_

She had so much more to lose: his gentle mother and the disgrace excuse of a father who failed at their commander's order; she was giving up her crown, to all the luxury in the world he could never afford, to toy with the idea that she need not have to worry whether there would be food on the battered table, or whether she would be able to have healthy children. All he could give her was the skill upon his sword and the vow that he was hers to dictate, hers for comfort, and hers to love. No matter how he tried, he could never reach up high enough for her.

Had they not known each other since birth, Hermione would have thought Draco was once again reconsidering, but the hardness of his jawline told her otherwise. He was convincing her, convincing himself that they should not even _consider_ this. But she could never tell him why; she could never tell him she wanted to save her soul; if she did, she would not be the Hermione he was in love with, she would be the girl who was as cowardly as he had painted his own father to be, and she would become the illusion he would throw away. She knows why he was in love with her, and those were all the wrong things to be in love with her _for._

But how could she tell him, once she took her father's place, they would be nothing more? Her father would only allow the union between her and the Potter boy from the land he had set his sight upon to conquer next. A powerful joining alliance, no more talks of romance or heart. And she would not love her Draco without the promise of being his completely, body, heart and soul. This was their only chance.

"I already lost the moment I saw you, Draco." He snapped his eyes closed; he could not bear to have his name upon her lips. He could never erase it, despite the fruitless attempts to do so.

His heart twisted and surrendered, he gathered his lady, the jewel numerous suitors craved, the heir his kingdom needed to survive on, into his arms and fastened his arms around her warm body. "So we depart." They matched, he marvelled, from head to toe, from one soul to the edge of the other. But he was not going to be the man to keep her from being great.

She had her hands on his face, brushing his hair from his eyes with trembling fingers. "So you can take me as your wife." That was the only way he could have her.

"So you take me as your husband." The the only way he wanted _her_ to have _him_.

She wounded her arms around his strong shoulders to tell herself he was real. "So I could bear you blonde children."

His knees wanted to stagger back as he took the hit from something he could never have now, "So I could make our daughters princesses of our own kingdom," _With the colour of her eyes, the twitch of her lips and the mischief of her smiles_ , "And our sons the bravest knights the land has ever known."

Her ring finger that bear the weight of the Riddle ring seemed lighter already; she could be at peace at long last she was sure she was going to break into relieved sobs. "So we start our lives together."

He would remember how bright her eyes shone when she thought he was agreeing with her.

He would look back and relive how she had sagged deeper into his arms and made him feel that he was needed.

He would anticipate the fury she would unleash when she realised he was gone in the coming dawn.

"I love you." _So I will let you go_.

* * *

A/N: ...


	21. it always will

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : half-blood prince au

 **Word Count** : 411

 **Tag** : _for #dhrfavorites jan 2016 favorite antagonist_

* * *

He was always reluctant, always stubbornly plead to her; his fingers would always hold on a little tighter before they had to let the trail of her hair go before it would hurt. "So early?"

"It's late." Ceremoniously tossing an absent glance at the clock that didn't tell the time they actually cared about, she was already zipping up the sweater that he had disposed onto the floor just to exposure her to him, just as he wanted for her.

"When are you leaving?" If it meant he had to beg, just one more time, he would.

"If I told you, I would have to kill you." Reflexively, she belittled the ill-timed humour and blamed it on her irrational mind.

 _It could never happen with us, could it? How some people just couldn't get away without wrecking damage to each other. Maybe the reason we'd decided to play with fire was because we thought we could stop after we tasted the pain. Maybe that's why I had let you touch me with the heat enough to scorch, to mark, to last._

His heart thumped as she bit her lip hard enough there was blood. "Gryffindor, one last time?" he whispered, extending his arm. If only he could tell anyone later, the curse that slashed his chest open hurt so much less than this; and how he wished the spell worked, and how it felt to finally put a shadow of what her rejection had done to him because _then_ they were real.

"That's what we've always said for the last fifty times." _Fifty-eight times_ , his eyes replied, and she closed hers briefly and dragged a breath in.

I _t killed us, didn't it? How we felt the same, how we would rather let the aftermath bury us than let what we feel perform a closed-casket funeral. Maybe that's why I stay awake at night, under the covers long enough it becomes hard to breathe, just thinking about you and imagine how it would feel to die that way._

"Will I ever see you again?" Draco almost choked on his own breath and just like every time, pretended he was clearly his throat instead, swallowing everything he wanted to say.

 _I love you. Don't leave._

 _Can a heart still break when it stopped beating?_

 _I would have done anything for you, do you know that?_

Hermione backed away, frost falling into the depth of her eyes, "See you on the other side, Slytherin."

* * *

 **A/N** : ... and just because i'm projecting, it had to be upon them and hauled the blame onto themselves.


	22. upside down

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : goblet of fire canon

 **Word Count** : 470

 **Tag** : _for_ _ **#dhrfavorites**_ _jan 2016 favorite canon moment_

* * *

"You must want your death wish fulfilled, _Muggle-born_." Hermione Granger could almost feel his sneer go along her spine. It must be the dull _hum_ still echoing in her ears and her tiredness that lowered her guard; her hair whipped her cheek as she wildly slashed her wand into his throat.

Draco Malfoy kept his smirk and with his father's flare, placed his fists on his waist and pushed his velvet cloak back from his black attire, the silver _M_ that was his tie bar briefly reflected in the moonlight.

Hermione kept her wand in his face and used her other wrist to wipe the water from her chin. "Lost your way to your silver tower?"

"A tower would be too dramatic among commoners, would it?"

"The Malfoy's without their pureblood theatrics? Did you forget to bring your fortress tent?" Hermione didn't know why she was still standing there with her holey pyjamas and why he was comfortable to have a wand stabbing into his throat in the middle of a 'civil' conversation.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and rubbed the spot between his brows, "Would it ease your surprise if I told you it's with the cleaner elves?"

Hermione bristled at the mention of the enslaved creatures and Malfoy's smirk grew. "Why do you think I care anything about you?" Hermione was a quick study, and if he was cynical, so could she: her comment was the mirror of his disdain and his eyes flashed.

He had her backed against the tree and her wrist twisted so it became had to breathe with her own wand arching her chin up. "Get back to your foster family and have the lot follow you at your heels just like they've been doing since you lot started your education. Like a pack of… feeble cubs."

"That could crush you under our feet whenever we want?" She tried to wrestle her hand free, but the more she did, the tighter the ring on his finger dug into her skin.

"Precisely. Right after we bite down on your ankles and you struggle one last time before you die from the venom."

"Get the _hell_ away from me." It would be never when she would admit that he was right: when the lions hunt, they aimed to kill abruptly while the venomous poised to prolong the agony of the defeated. And she, out in the open without her pack, was the easiest target since the biblical mother's weakness.

"It would hurt my ego if my favorite _dilution_ went," Malfoy drew her wand across her throat with deliberate slowness, "…and got herself killed, would it?"

Hermione stepped uncomfortably up to him, thinking he was going to back away, "Good to know you cared."

Malfoy's nose brushed at the tip of hers, "Why do you think I do?"

* * *

 **A/N** : _"Language, Weasley," said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?" He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them. "What's that supposed to mean?" said Hermione defiantly. "Granger, they're after Muggles," said Malfoy. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around… they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh._

I would like to think that he would have forewarned her and this would be their little inside joke


	23. the art of forgetting

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : hogwarts aftermath au

 **Word Count** : 374

 **Tag** : for _#dhrfavorites_ jan 2016 new year's prompts ; prompt: new year's in hogwarts _&_ parties

* * *

It was a small affair, nowhere near the size of their Fourth Year's Yule, thank Merlin. Everyone was still too tense to croon over dress catalogs, hands were still rigid from tightly grasping on wands, mouths too set in thin lines that swallow the ability of speech, and the desire to shed some skin, put their hair up, or simply invite someone to dance were all not on priority's list.

So it became harshly mandatory, a dress code that could be accommodated with even a cut of Hogwarts bed curtains and a little magic; it was officially a celebration of a new year to come, but un-officially, it was a photo-op and the attendance was to take into account how much booze was to be ordered.

Fifty minutes in, plates were cleared along with the tables and the remaining student body simply formed the usual dance circle and nothing else really happened.

The Head Prefects simply thanked the effort made and it was in unison that the Great Hall was cleared and the elves bowed and gestured the humans back to their Common rooms where the forgetting could continue.

Hermione's mouth was still swollen, glisteningly damp and they stung slightly. She flattened them now, wincing as the pressure on the blood splatters must have begun bruising.

Draco's shoulder blades were starting to itch. The salt of their sweat didn't help much with fresh scratch marks, but it wasn't the first time and he knew better; he swung his oxford shirt over his shoulders and grasped the flutes between his knuckles.

Hermione took the champagne from the cooling bucket and barely flinched when the cork popped and foam ran sticky down her arm.

Draco remained standing when she poured each glass full.

Hermione reached for her share and scooted backwards into the bed.

Draco crawled into the bed and closed her legs into him with his arms.

Hermione suckled on the skin of his throat before raising the champagne to her lips.

Draco waited until she finished before taking her hand in his, twining their fingers together.

The drinks tasted of irony and they sat there, toasting to the room still smelling of them and sex, and wondered how long could they last like that.

* * *

 **A/N** : i'm just a bulb of sunshine, am I?


	24. green drapes

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count** : 607

 **Tag** : for _**#dhrfavorites**_ jan 2016 favorite locations/settings

* * *

"There's less green than I expected."

"Mother liked matching the place with our clothing, so most of it had to go before my fifth birthday."

"And it's much lighter than I thought. Especially in your room." Her chin escaped his fingers to gesture towards the window and the dying afternoon sunset.

"The elves know how much you like reading, so they put the drapes up for now. Father's going to cut them loose and demand them to be drawn."

"Vampires. With the hair and all that pale skin." She bit her lip in mirth and tease as she leered down at the heir.

He retaliated by flashing his canine teeth. "I did mark out your sensitive spot very early in the prelude of our—"

"I will stop you right there. You don't know who's listen—" She tucked the corner of the duvet into his smirking mouth, "—forget I said that and stop laughing!" In doing so, he was more than rewarded to keep his mouth shut and admire his wife in all her glory, in the midst of pearl-grey sheets and wild hair, a flush on her cheeks and the chips on her grey nail-polish.

She rolled her eyes and pulled him free, and he continued as if he was not interrupted, "— relationship and have proven not a fumbling virgin in bed and who still remembers to cast Silencing charms."

"Who Apparated us to the Manor anyway?"

"You suggested it and I, the honourable husband that I am proving to be, took the command of wanting to see my childhood plush toys and agreed to have sex with my new wife in my old bedroom instead of the perfectly lavish chambers booked by my parents whom is currently somewhere in this house."

She mimed through a punch at his face with her left fist curled, "Crude."

" _Married_." he released her hand with a nip on her finger, "And for that reason, deliriously happy in a place where would normally leave a bad taste in my mouth."

It was an instant sober from the champagne, from the delicious ache in her body and the comfort in the weight of her ring finger. "It eventually had to be easier, so why not start early?" She angled her arm so the inside of it could be smothered into the bed.

He stared at the side of her up-turned face and then shut his eyes tightly with realisation. "They are not your demons to kill, Granger: they're mine."

"They are mine just as they are yours," she muttered. "Is it a problem by remembering the place you grew up in with something better for now?"

 _Stubborn, stubborn, too stubborn_. " _Better?_ It's our wedding night, _Mrs. Malfoy._ "

"It's already better, is it not? I like your room and you slept without nightmares, right?" she turned on her side so she could see him better, "It's— I'm fine. And you are, too. As long as it is one step at a time."

He swallowed, along with a violent urge to tell her how much he loved her, and drove the afternoon back into a brighter scene, "I still remember to pack up the books you want in our new place."

She cracked a smile and drew a lock of hair over his forehead, "We are not taking the emerald drapes with us, though."

He slipped a hand to the small of her back and her body rode with the tide, wiggling closer to him. "Besides, I rather like green on you more."

"Well," she traced along his left side, "We both know how I feel about you in black."

* * *

 **A/N** : honest to god when i'm writing and editing this i'm listening to grim grinning ghosts, the theme in the haunted mansion ride from disney. that's speaks a lot for the inspiration behind malfoy manor? lol jk


	25. ying yang

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger **Word Count** : 756 **Tag** : for _**#dhrfavorites**_ jan 2016 prompt exchange [from the muse: _A couple near the beginning of time had a love so strong that it couldn't be defeated by death, and so by some deep magic they were reincarnated over and over throughout different eras so that their love would always live on. Draco and Hermione are the most recent incarnation, but something damaged or fiddled with the magic in some way so that this time around they would be born and raised separated by fate, hating each other in an almost unconquerable way._ ]

* * *

 ** _23_**

"I'm Lucas: I go by my middle name… I shouldn't have said anything."  
"But you did. Mine's Jean. Boring, old Jean."  
"… _Draco_."  
"I'm not laughing at you … It _do_ matches your eyes."

* * *

 ** _34_**

"Dragons are not real."  
"You are so deep in the study I had to hunt you down for the past hour and you tell me you do not have imagination?"  
"I do not read books for leisure, Mr. Malfoy. I read books given to me by my father."  
"Tell me, Miss Granger, what is the fun in that?"  
"Oh, if you know so much about fun, do show me and prove it."  
"I take that as a challenge, then."  
"… Stop smirking at me. And no, _Mr. Malfoy_ , I am not blushing."

* * *

 ** _57_**

"You should back up a bit from the ledge there, Mister. Don't want you tipping over the sea."  
"I will not be doing any _tipping_."  
"Aren't you too defensive over something you proclaim you won't be doin'?"  
"Mind your own business."  
"Sir, if you jump over and judging by your out-of-place black clothing and that pointy nose of yours sticking into the air, people would be stopping this ship just to find you."  
"… Do you have any suggestions, then? Take me away and make an honest laborer out of me?"  
"I could, but first, we have to work on toning down your rich heir smugness a bit to go along with your pretty face."

* * *

 ** _63_**

"You can't run anymore— and neither can I. I don't know how long our lives would last, but the next second isn't worth waiting for without you."  
"We've tried. So many times. You have a son; I love my fiancé."  
"Then deny that you love me! Deny that every second we spend apart doesn't kill you!"  
"Even if I do, what difference does it make? I could love you in any way you want me to, and I certainly could love you for the rest of my life, but what if—"  
"So it's not gonna be easy. It's going to be really hard; we're gonna have to work at this everyday, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, everyday. You and me… everyday."

* * *

 ** _78_**

"Stop scratching it."  
"You know I can't help it. They just took the stitches away."  
"Here, hold my hand. I could sure distract you away from that."  
"Hah-ha. As if you could make it work."  
"Would I love you work? Or should I say thank you to remind you that you saved my family and nearly electrocuting yourself to death just to push my cousin away from the stupid fan?"  
"If he didn't want to get their dog, it would have been a much easier job."  
"You _were_ crazy. Really, are you insane?"  
"Why are you making a big deal out of it? I just have this long scar in my arm, like a trophy for my heroics. It just itches: _I'm fine_."  
"So you are just going to ignore the fact that I said _I love you_?"

* * *

 ** _95_**

"How long would I have to wait to see you again?"  
"I do not know."  
"I won't let you leave without saying good-bye. Not again."  
"You know why I have to do this—"  
"And we have been through this so many times! I do not care if you were born in this, I do not care how many enemies your father has, I do not care if you hide secrets and have your best friend keep them from me, I do not care if the only way you could go was to leave everything behind: I just care that I get to say good-bye. One last kiss. One more stare. One moment just to touch you. That's all I ask."  
"Everything I do onwards is for you. So is it enough to reciprocate your love?"

* * *

 ** _99_**

"Get out of my way."  
"Excuse me, Malfoy. I'm trying to return the book to the shelf."  
"Yes, you are excused. Could you take up any more space?"  
"I could take up as much space and oxygen as I please, Malfoy."  
"Oh, yes, you do. Whatever's in the Chamber still at large hunting dirt like you is a very good reminder, isn't it?"  
"Don't you know any different tunes? Give it a rest."  
"I hope it's you next. Remind me to send cauldron cakes and roses to your funeral!"  
"Bugger off, Malfoy."  
"I wish you would, _Mudblood_ , I wish you would."

* * *

 **A/N** : hope i did the prompt a degree of justice! it's such a heart-wrenching prompt and let me just go cry a little about this (p.s. _78_ happened to my mother and i had to add it in: no it wasn't that dramatic but i wanted to use that to make hermione's scar appear at some time) 


	26. it would not mean

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting** : midst of chaos! au

 **Word Count** : 902

* * *

He placed his head into his hands and applied pressure to his eyes with the heel of his palms and she tightened her grip on the spine of the grimoire.

She watched him and his habit: running his thumbnail down his right arm, hard enough to leave red lines. Her own habit kicked in, her fingers went to pull his away from his skin, but faltered when he pushed back from the table and reached inside his collar.

She had given him the chain three weeks ago when she had found his family ring in the jacket she was about to burn, and it had stank: with her blood, with Dobby's blood, the bitter stench of the floorboards and of Narcissa Malfoy's perfume.

His thanks was worth more than what she think her gift did, but there was none that persuaded her not to take it and accept _him_ from him.

War was raging outside their vacuum: his Mark and her scar were proof, so what was this? It wasn't the forbidden lick of adrenaline rush, nor was the heady mix of lust and want for body warmth that grew them together, together and _together_ and so many other times. Each touch meant more than comfort, each kiss meant more than desire and each fight was worth more than burying the hatchet or trying to put the reckless-ness blame on the other when something went wrong that day: altogether it felt like a death sentence, because when she and him could put a name to _that_ and that would be their _Time's Up_.

They were not walking on a blurred line: he was never just another boy who could unveil her and she would allow him to continue and he had never set out to be one. He had set out to stick, to infiltrate and to course within her veins as if he was born just for that purpose alone. When her friends existed within carefully constructed and stacked boxes, she had drawn a thick, biro-black line around him, a circle, his personalised and un-categorisable territory, his turf on her own soul.

He stood with his back to the light so shadows fell with his hair overhead his eyes and she wanted to see them at the same time she dreaded it.

Time's up. Time's up. _Time's up_.

"We are past the point of screaming at each other for pushing themselves out into battle and add more bruises to your tailbone when we have sex against the wall and smother our own voices. Our pattern of letting the other slip away and hold each other too tightly when we eventually got back in one piece is erosion to rationality. I can't take another spell because I was looking for you out there, and you can't have your injuries un-attended as you look for me among the lived."

 _Sometimes_ , she had to convince herself, _being in love with someone who loves you back isn't enough_.

"If I want anything to mean something out of this, if I want anything to be worth all of this, if I am left with anything after all of this: _it has to be you_." He was cautious with his words: it had to be blunt and piercing just because they were never the pair for delicacy.

 _It wasn't sacrifice, it was fairness: everyone should have something to lose on the battlefield, then the deaths, the loss and the chaos would mean something, then people would have an excuse as to why they started the war. Hers… it wasn't for absolute power and cheating death, it wasn't to fulfil a life sentence disguised as a prophecy, it wasn't for protecting family: hers was to save everything she had ever wanted in the form of the man who had sunk down on his knee in front of her, ready to lay himself for her like it was_ his _sacrifice._

"Don't say yes because you feel obligated. Don't say yes because it would mean I will be happy. Don't say yes because you want the past two years to have a meaning. Say yes," his gaze shot from her fingers into her eyes, and she felt as if he did shoot her right through the heart, just as he did every time he did it with his stares, his gazes and his hooded looks, "Because you want this. Say yes because you want this for as long as we both shall live."

She wanted his skin on hers, but knew he exactly didn't want it so she could think clearly, he could be vulnerable and both of them could be sensible inside this room of ignorant bliss.

"Say yes," she stopped breathing when he unclasped the chain and slid the ring off, "Only because you love me."

Her lower jaw froze and she couldn't locate her tongue to reply.

She had everything and nothing to tell him.

She had everything and nothing to give him.

She had everything and then now, she had nothing to promise him.

 _Five. Gringotts. Sword. Hair. Polyjuice._ She regretted using her red permanent marker and she didn't expect and she would stand, he would be able to see and add it over her head.

 _Her lower jaw froze and she couldn't locate her tongue to reply_.

And waited for the blizzard to come.

And for nothing else to worth losing afterwards.


	27. moonstone

**Pairing:** Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count:** 517

 **Prompt:** #dhrfavorites march: family prompts

* * *

The baby was vigorously kicking at the railings of her crib, and the creaking jerked her up.

The whisper of her son's name was chased away as his soft snores were briefly heard between the intervals of the fidgeting.

Their baby was reaching its palms up, its mouth clamped around her necklace. Her gums must be itching, and then she would have to be taught not to stomp her growing teeth onto the smooth, hard stone.

 _Her_ baby was smiling, the pink bow of her lips widening when she noticed her audience and she took the stone from her mouth and waved.

 _His_ baby was tugging on her own blonde hair, and in the middle of untangling the necklace from her, switched from her left hand to her right so that her wedding ring wouldn't catch on the curls.

Her throat was dry and her eyes were wet when she suddenly quieted down, her frail chest rising slowly and falling, her star-like eyes even brighter than the moonlight, surveying her, reading into her own soul and she had to look away.

Her husband, _somehow_ \- _perhaps_ he had been feigning all this time, would chant her name over and over again until Albus would smile, too, and intertwine his own fingers around hers, as if they had known where to look for their lifelines since they were born.

The little girl's name was scrawled on the wall of _their_ room, had been a silver-lining in the shallow end of hell, her best friend's last words, then carved into her father's chest and upon her father's last wish― it was not a name meant to be spoken with gripping pain, it was not meant to be spoken with haunting ghosts.

Her name was meant to be spoken by the two people who loved her so much even before she was conceived.

She was a nomad, travelling stiffly and reluctantly from her grandparents' mansion in soft pyjamas and cotton swaddles to the warm household in tiny Weasley sweaters and patch-work pouches.

She was a delicately breathing reminder of the people they had to lose, and the people they had left behind to remember them.

She was a pardon, an apology, a chance, a choice, a secret, a reckoning, a commitment, a promise, a future, a sacrifice, a decision, a wish and a tragic ending all wrapped in one.

The baby grasped her necklace and held it up, something she was very keen on doing in the past few weeks. It was a request that pained her and everybody else who loved the little girl and had loved her parents.

She complied, brushing her thumb across the words, like a ritual. " _Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy_." Their little girl blinked once, twice, and then blossomed a wide smile: a smile as haunting as her mother's fierce loyalty, as blazing as her father's will to protect, and she caved.

Ginny tested the name in her mind, and at the tip of her tongue, and then picking her up, sponged her name into the crown of her small head,

"You are so loved, _Eirene_."

* * *

A/N: Eirene is the personification of _Peace_ in Greek Mythology.


	28. you're lucky it was me

**Pairing:** Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Setting:** Battle of Hogwarts

 **Word Count:** 630 words

 **Tag:** Order!Draco

* * *

She almost lost her footing, and skidded down the marble, her knees scraped raw against the rubble on her way to the landing. A bright red streak of light zapped an inch from her ear and she retaliated with a green one without missing a beat.

"You are lucky it was me, Granger." Her attacker gave out his answer in a growl and she almost rolled her eyes.

"Should we call it luck for the fact that I could have slashed your chest wide open if I hit my mark?" She held her side for the throbbing to ease, but his arm was around her waist and hauled her up.

"Do you need─"

"I'm fine." Her next inhale stuttered within her chest and she conceded, leaning against him as a moment of weakness, "It could just be bruising." Two hours never felt that long.

His jaw was controlled, but the jerk of his fingers over the blood on her forehead told her otherwise. "We are nearly there."

She should have kissed him when his lips began his usual stretch into a snarl. "I saw your parents," she grasped his branded arm by his forearm, where the sleeve of his long shirt was torn clean off. "And you shouldn't have worn my favorite shirt."

"I will sponsor you to buy as many shirts as you want," he touched his wand to her temple and stitched up a brief cut, "and let you tear them to pieces every time you take me, how's that?"

Like clockwork, like habit, she smoothed her hands down the front, along the planes of his stomach, keeping track his set of wounds, memorising the places she would lay her kisses with the opposite of what she was feeling right that moment clogged in her throat.

A figure tore through the smog and doubled back when he recognised familiar faces, "Lavender, she's hurt," He didn't even flinch with two wands flush over his heart. "I need you, Hermione."

Then Draco's hands were already unfastening the drawstrings from her bag and with a silent _Accio_ , took out a Portkey for St. Mungos and handed it over to Dean. "Twice clock-wise. Be careful, Thomas."

Dean nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and continued sprinting towards the doors.

She tried extracting herself from his arms to comply, but his hands took her shoulders and made her face him again; made the haunting world around them fade away just a little, the dizzying adrenaline lowered into a simmer, the cries of battle muffled for a fraction.

"I'd rather you help the wounded, but the second things starts to fuck up," He weaved his fingers, wand tangling in her messy braid, and tugged her forward, "You run and get back on track with the plan, you got me?" Every brush of his hands made the wound at the back of her head itch, but it was him, it was _Draco_ , and nothing else mattered then.

She nodded, her hands slipped under his shirt, feeling how his heart was pumping blood throughout his body, still going strong, still fighting, fighting with her, fighting for her, and she was more than lucky.

"Kiss me." He muttered before following swift with his own request: a hint of iron, hot breath and the lick of invitation from his tongue ignited her senses and she inhaled deeply the scent of his sweat, the faint spearmint and she did what she was told, again and again and again.

One more kiss, another whisper against his lips, "Great Hall─" She pushed away from him and they backed away from each other, close and yet getting further away.

"─I will be waiting." He finished and turned around without looking back.

They were going to make it.

* * *

 **Plot twist:** _ **no, they couldn't.**_

* * *

A/N: **_Battle of Hogwarts, May 2nd, 1998_** (prequel to i have been waiting.)


	29. things you said on the phone at 4 am

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count** : 542 words

 **Setting** : after the war!au

* * *

She still hadn't figured out when he did customize his own ringtone, so she answered it when it reached the last ring. The phone was bulky against the softness of the mattress and the side of her cheek, but the corner of the flip phone somewhat eased the itching on the shell of her ear. "This still works."

Scatter of static with a short exhale, and she could almost hear the corner of his mouth quirk up for a millisecond, then regulated back into place. "So it seems."

"I'm in the room next to yours," Folding her arm over her stomach, she rested on her good side. "You are wasting the battery."

"You can just hang up." She heard both the headboard creak and his head brush against the wall behind her at the same time.

How awake she was hurt her head. "It's four in the morning." So did the other healing injuries, but no one was there to hold her hands to stop her scratching.

"And you are awake to pick up my call."

Her forehead rested forward on the concrete and she could feel the swing of celebration down the few flight of stairs. "I'm not used to them like this. Being so … loud. Not tense, just ― at ease, I guess."

"They won't when they wake up because the last time I checked the inventory, there were no more Sobering Potion left."

She lifted her left hand above and let the faint blueish hue of dawn coat the bandages on her hand. "So in a few more hours."

"… We won, so who's counting, really."

"The Wizengamot _would_. You _are_ one of us."

"The one thing we have decided not to talk about, Granger." At least his dry bark of a laugh hadn't changed. "I can't pretend I had meant to turn spy for the sake of contributing to the good side."

"And you did prove your worth."

"Not enough, yet. If I do empty half of the family vaults up for the rebuilding, I could only take half the years off from my father, and that does not look good for me, either."

"Well, you know where to find people to vouch for your conduct, Malfoy." She bit her tongue because she sounded so _desperate_ ; she switched to the other ear when the pressure began to irritate.

"If the Order are still using Twelve as headquarters, and they don't throw my belongings out of my uncle's room, I can remember my way."

"Somewhere else you need to be?" The hairs on the back of her neck stood, as if her bed suddenly was cold.

"My parents." His answer was clearly rehearsed; he released his lower lip, his jaw nudging his phone and made his voice wobble. "They would want to see me and have my help with the … place. Just for a week, perhaps."

"If you are kicked out, I know someone who can spare some room." Her toes brushed back and forth at the railings where _his_ legs usually rested.

This time, she could hear his grin, "So I can pretend I don't miss having fellytone calls with you? I'm not _that_ good of an actor."


	30. the ten thousand women you are

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count** : 549 words

* * *

"I want to marry you," her words broke the dam, coaxed out by intoxication of his aftershave.

Her mouth snaked up from his naked back up the base of his head; she could almost see how every word left a trail of blood on his skin, like lead, like poison. "I want us to have each other at the dawn of this new era." The ears within the walls continued to listen, so she continued her lie.

"I want to hold onto you as we serve the Dark Lord and conquer the world for him. I want to help you rebuild the Malfoy house into its legacy. I want our heirs to continue the dynasty with our guidance. I want _you_ , as my husband." Her lips rested against the crook of his throat so he would feel her every word.

His grip on the quill tightened and she watched his jaw lock. "So you _do_ accept my proposal?"

"Yes, but stop hijacking _mine_." Her tongue obediently followed how he guided her, arching his neck like a bow, just the way she liked it. "I've waited for your _Yes_ for five days." His voice was gruff, a bit put-out, almost. "I have the right to accuse that against you, love." His teeth intentionally grazed his lower lip in the way that would make her state.

"Then I'm guilty as charged." One more territorial kiss and it was time for the pre-engagement gift. Reaching into his briefs she had on, she took out the letter which had cost her two nights' worth of sleep and sanity.

He inhaled, covering the rustle of the frayed parchment, and went over the angles once, smudging the ink with his thumb. Her arms wrapping over his collarbone and her nose in his hair weren't meant to seduce, but how his body froze on its way to rest against hers, he might have taken it as such.

The rigid stance of his shoulders echoed her thought: _Hope and despair, in one word stitched onto a piece of parchment._ T

he brief brush of silver against her scarred arm robbed her of breath and she followed his now bare hand as he fitted his heirloom onto her ring finger; that particular burden felt just like the gravity of a blessed talisman.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy." It came out in an intoxicated rush. "Don't ask me how, don't ask me why. I just _do_." _That feeling you get when you have ended up with something you never thought could have cradled in the palm of your hands, trembling, fearing it could get lost because you felt like you were never meant to own it at the first place: because_ she _did crave it, because_ she _did get attached, because the neatly messily heatedly compiled list of reasons why just kept growing ―_

He crushed the parchment within his palm, turned so he could fold his arms around her waist and hitched her against him. _Assurance and condemnation_ … _Such a fine, fragile, treacherous line._

"You know I would do anything, Hermione Granger," he pressed his lips to the scar on her neck, "― to prove that I love you more."

Then his smile blinded her, crippled her, and carved open the other way.


	31. safety pins

**Pairing** : Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

 **Word Count** : 868 words

* * *

 _ _He held up the strand that he extracted from his bloody mouth as she scrunched up her nose and snickered,_ "That is not my hair." __He growled, pushing out his jaw to deny her seek. "Should I thank Salazar that it is not_ this _time?"_

 _"You said you wanted a bed _—_ " her hands still managed to loop around his shoulders, sliding her palms over his back.  
_

 _"That doesn't forgive..." he muttered before conceding to his own weakness, dipping his tongue down into the arch of her throat.  
_

 _"It is not my cat's fault that it lives in my dormitory."  
_

 _He heard her whine when he bypassed her collarbones with only a graze of his lips. "Next time the sex will be anywhere but here."  
_

 _She weaved her fingers through his mess of hair and tugged lightly, "Of course, let's find a free broom cupboard _—_ "  
_

 _He glared over her heaving ribs, "We are not having sex in a broom cupboard."_

 _"Have you wrote your mum yet?" she retorted as she nudged the side of his head with her calf.  
_

 _"You and your ways to make intelligent conversation when I'm trying to shag you brainless _—_ " __He made sure to press his tongue down after so all she could do is writhe and clutch his hands on her hips._

* * *

The crystals shivered as he slammed the door to the deserted space, away from the drinking and jeering and laughter; he was stone-cold and freezing in the middle of May. He found himself choking of the crisp, hollow air of the ballroom, and slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from being sick.

He thought he could smell her. He thought he might have tasted her blood.

 _"You aren't here to yell at me?" her voice was groggy and hoarse even after the glass of water that he was sure she had been screaming._

 _What is there to stop him from staggering in front of her bravery, to have kissed along her new scar when she was sleeping, for her arms to be around his unworthy shoulders, need her to steal his breath away just so he wouldn't beg her _— "My parents are in custody in Azkaban. What's done is done."__

 _"Azkaban? I thought the Ministry was going to honor _—_ " her eyes were frantic and she grunted as she rose up to meet him half-way.  
_

 _"They are the safest there. Your way worked."_

I lost an uncle and my father could have had his cover blown, but I didn't lose you _sounded so selfish that he shuddered as he buried his nose at the back of her ear and felt her warmth over his left arm steady his thoughts even just for a while._

His few mouthfuls of dinner ended up on the bare floorboards and the tears followed; he felt the pain and hopefulness in all the crevices she had discovered with her touch, and he tried pressing at his chest to stop the agony and the hopelessness from escaping through his hold because at least he still _got to feel_.

It was not a week, not a hundred hours nor thousands of minutes but he didn't know how to measure _soon_.

 _"Don't touch that." he shifted away from her and onto his back, but her warm body stubbornly followed, curving around him.  
_

 _"It's just your arm." was the reply he hated when she used it to justify why the fuck she was still seeing him, helping him with the task, kissing him, holding him when he shake at what he had decided to do._

"Draco... come on."he wiped his nose on his sleeve and leapt up to see Pansy closing the door behind her, standing upright and staring at the oversized sweater over her slender figure and how she had folded her hands tightly over the _R_ in the front.

He caught his oldest friend into his arms as she dived into him and found himself smoothing trembling hands over the material and recognising the scent on her again.

"He is safe. They are both safe." Pansy was gasping between her whimpers but he heard her all the same, "She's safe. They got away."

 _"What if—"  
_

 _"There's no more_ what-if _s, Draco," he closed his eyes to memorise how his skin still react to her jaw moving over his bare shoulder, "I don't want to go back. I'm with you. That's all it matters."_

 _"But I love _—_ "  
_

 _She leaned in and took it out of his mouth and pulled him closer even though he was clutching her too tightly_

He was being ungrateful, but he still stopped and nodded once to his father's slightly exasperated gesture towards his room before yanking the doors open and

 _I trust that you will find a way. Wait for me._

His left hand was shaking so hard he had to press his wrist bone into the bed post.

"It's just you and me... for now."

Crookshanks hesitated, just enough to send him to his knees, then leapt off the bed and padded towards him, wanting the tattered collar back.

* * *

 **A/N** : I'm with you until the end of the line.


	32. spongebath (Ride or Die by olivieblake)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

Word Count: 1,035 words

Setting: "The 'I'm a [blank] for olivie and Ride or Die' Christmas Nonsense"/ fanfiction of a fanfiction

A/N: everyone read _Ride or Die_ , like now :)

* * *

"Peppermint?" Hermione briefly wondering if Theodore Nott would accept the candy cane, suck on it until he had the end sharpened and stab it graciously into her eye socket.

Theo rolled his eyes, though, and gave her a sly wink, "Now you are just flirting."

She eyed the neatly lined coffee cups by the seat. "How long have you been here?"

"An hour, maybe two." Theo muttered, his long fingers unwrapping the candy; the tearing of the plastic packaging echoed in the narrow corridor, tucked away from the population stuck in the hospital for Christmas.

Hermione shifted in her feet and her right hand slipped from the pot's ledge for one moment in time—

Theo didn't pause from tying a knot with the wrapper at the base of the candy cane, "What you got there?" and his eyes followed the tiny round candy rolling away from her back.

"Um." She felt foolish for even trying to hide from Nott at the first place: he was part of Them and was remarkably observant and seemingly, as she flushed under his gleeful smirk, liked to torment anyone into admitting every unnecessary decision they have ever made. "A Christmas tree. For… every room in the hospital. I'm… making my rounds."

"I see. But," the cane popped from his mouth without taking away his grin, "I would recommend a shower before you go in."

Giving up, she rounded the tree into her stomach, turned her nose into her sleeve and sniffed. She couldn't distinguish the smell of iodoform from herself. "Do I smell?"

"Not for you," Theo waved his candy cane towards the room in circles as if he was waving a wand, "— for him. The idiot has been in surgery for half a day."

"Oh." Hermione sobered up when she was reminded that the last time she got to smell him was more than five days ago and his skin had tasted of her body wash and leather. "… how bad?"

"At least it wasn't bullets this time." Theo was treading cautiously vague, as expected, so she wasn't going to press him and overstep their evanescent acquaintance.

"Who falls with a knife in their hand?" she offered up her interpretation, tongue-in-cheek.

"Malfoy, that's who. Trying to be the angsty hero. Is your shift over?"

Hermione had to glance over her shoulder to make sure the corridor was still empty with the way Nott just nonchalantly tucked snippets of theirworld into a follow-up question back to her. The way the corner of his right eye tightened told her that was all he was going throw her.

"Yes," she knew she had to play along; the sooner she fulfilled the courtesy call with Nott, the quicker she would be able to swallow the lump in her throat and compose herself before going in, "He is my last stop."

"Great. I will wait and get you home." And he was back at the candy cane, crunching chunks off with his teeth.

It was no use arguing with Nott when he could just kick down the door and waltz out with her over his shoulder in two breaths, no answers given.

And she wasn't wearing good underwear.

"I won't be long."

With another knowing canine grin from Nott, Hermione left him in his guard duty, oddly enthusiastic and uncharacteristically cheery with his candy.

"You come with the sponge bath I requested?"

She was a sight for sour eyes: the pencil she had lodged into her bun was lopsided, spilling locks of hair messily over her shoulder and she didn't seem to notice; the top two buttons of her shirt were undone, the right collar was slightly ajar from the weight of her fancy ball pen with those ridiculous white-and-red canes… and he thought Granger was vehemently against any forms of sugar for enjoyment. The room was dark enough that her eyes seemed to flash in amber and the light from outside framed around her like a halo; Draco blamed the poetry on the itch to trace over her exposed collarbone and the morphine.

"No one is getting anything for at least—" Hermione bent down and ran her eyes down his chart. Bruised ribs and a slashed and fractured shoulder as results of a motorbike accident. Fair enough. "—two more days. Anything hurting? Irritations?"

Draco watched her subconsciously clipped her hair back with two fingers and half-rolled his eyes as he twitched below. Could he really not control how much he took almost masochistic pleasure in seeing Granger treating his injuries?

"You might need to up the drugs a notch, Doc." he suggested almost hopefully; as long as he didn't have to breathe with his sore side with a few nights of medical-induced sleep, that could be his vacation.

"No can do." Her professional frowning at the overhead monitors was close enough for him to notice the shadow casting over her features, to see her tired and pale face; she was blinking in quick intervals, her jaw moving the way when she concentrated.

And then he glanced down at what she had set down on the nightstand: "Did they run out of flowers that you got me a goddamn tree?"

Hermione bit her lip: he was not the kind of person who would want and frankly, not in the position at the moment, to celebrate the merriest of holidays. The notion of taking aside a small tree from the stock for him had be so instinctual that it made her feel silly, stupid and nerve-wrecking; it hit her stomach now, as he offered up a drunken grin and his eyes molten silver. "Sorry if the tree is pathetic and tiny and I couldn't find anything better than Smarties—"

Drugs. He blamed the inadequate drugs.

Draco heaved himself up, ignoring his stinging arm against her scrubs – damn her in that uniform, by the way—winded his fingers into her collapsing hair and tugged her down, the smell of hospital in the crook of her throat, her damp lips and her know-it-all mouth—

She tasted of tangerine, the bitter whiskey in eggnog and Christmas.


End file.
